


Rebirth

by Little_Bites



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adorable Isaac Lahey, Allison Argent & Lydia Martin Friendship, Alpha Derek, Alpha Peter Hale, Alpha Scott, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bad Alpha Derek Hale, Bad Alpha Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Bad Decisions, Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Banshee Lydia Martin, Emotionally Hurt Stiles Stilinski, F/F, F/M, Hurt Peter Hale, Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, Kitsune, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, Magic, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Minor Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, POV Lydia, POV Lydia Martin, POV Multiple, POV Peter Hale, POV Scott, POV Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), POV Stiles Stilinski, Past Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Past Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Past Relationship(s), Scott Being an Idiot, Scott McCall (Teen Wolf) Being an Idiot, Slow Build Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Tags Are Hard, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:27:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 47,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22872487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Bites/pseuds/Little_Bites
Summary: When the cards are down, who do you trust?A new Alpha rises. A kiss for the dead. A spark to a larger flame.Betas: @frozenadventures & Kristin Larson-Thank you both tons for all you do!Edit: Fair warning, there is a lot of time jumping in the first 6 or so chapters, but it does get better after that. This is only my second fic and my first long fic.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Lydia Martin, Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes
Comments: 175
Kudos: 410





	1. Fools & Anger

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Arvak for all of your help and inspiring me repeatedly! Also thank you to TailorNorata for inspiring me on how to better write Scott and inspiring me! Additionally, thank you to everyone whose work I've read and not! You all show me over and over again that there are always so much room for more and more stories and ideas on here <3

Scott had texted the wolves, even Derek. Scott hoped Derek did not bring his pack. However, Scott felt he had no choice but to include Derek as it did involve his family. Also, Scot knew that sooner or later, Derek would find out about Theo, his new pack member. Scott texted for everyone to meet at the edge of preserve near the old Hale house burnt out remains.

When he arrived, Derek wore his traditional ‘something stinks,’ diva frown. That was the first thing Scott noticed. Derek's dark jeans, well-worn Henley, and leather jacket were so consistent, Scott wondered if the man ever bought new clothes. The older wolf had dragged along his mismatch pack of Isaac, Erica, and Boyd. Isaac wore his clearly new clothes with a cocky smile that Scott felt made him look smarmy, if possibly—secretly—a bit hot, but not really. It reminded him too much of Jackson for Scott to be too open or comfortable about his possible hint of attraction to Issac. Erica stood with her hands on hips in impatience, matching in some unsettling way with her perfectly polished red lips and nails. She wore an impractical leather mini skirt and a too-tight t-shirt. At least her leather jacket seemed somewhat reasonable. Boyd had his arm snaked around her in a possessive hold with his silent intimidation turned up to thirty billion in his dead eyes and dark clothes.

Totally over the odd pack of misfits, Scott found himself puffing out his chest in pride at Theo’s understated blue jeans and black t-shirt. The clothes subtly highlighted his muscles without having an air of bragging. 

Derek spoke first, annoying Scott further, “What the hell are we doing here?”

Scott stood a bit taller, seemingly trying to assert dominance over the situation, as he said, “Look, it was supposed to be just you, but whatever. Stiles says Peter is missing. Deaton backed him up saying last he knew Peter was having control issues and was last seen entering the preserve. Thought, being his blood relative, you may want to be included.”

Derek growled low.

Scott assumed the growling was at his own not noticing that Peter had gone missing. Scott knew Derek could not possibly have known already since Scott only found out about an hour ago. He continued, “I figured you could join our efforts to look for him so we can take him to Deaton. He’ll make sure Peter’s okay. I had assumed it would be just you, but I guess they can look too. I think we should—”

Derek rudely cut him off, saying, “Fine. Boyd and Erica. You go together, I’ll take Issac. You, Scott, can take whoever that is—“motioning toward Theo—“and… where is Stiles?”

Scott barely suppressed his own growl. He took a deep breath to tamp down the frustration he felt, and then spoke, “Stiles is researching. He is looking into some stuff about the preserve. I agree on the break down. And this is Theo. He’s my beta, from the lacrosse team.”

Theo stood a bit straighter. His muscles even relaxed a bit at being introduced, it seemed.

Scott smiled at Theo with pride. Scott could make betas, too. He was perhaps even better at it.

Derek nodded stiffly at the information provided.

Scott nodded as well and motioned to Theo for him to follow as Scott left the other pack, so he could start the search first.  
\---------------------------------------------------  
Derek and his pack stayed still and silent, waiting for Scott and Theo to be out of hearing range. He spoke quietly though, just in case: “Okay, if you find Peter, text me. Do not approach. Will deal with him myself. Got it?”

Isaac’s brow furrowed, but he simply said, “Okay.”

Boyd gave a nod, looking to Erica lovingly before pulling Erica away. He took her into the preserve from a different direction than Scott and his ‘buddy’ had gone.

Derek took Isaac with him to go into the preserve from a different angle than the others with the hope of his pack getting to Peter before Scott.

\---------------------------------------------------

Months before…

After he had driven Lydia to meet with the others and save Jackson, Stiles had to face the lack of a shit that anyone gave for him. He also saw that Peter was back. He could not contain his own anger at being left out of so much all the time. In that moment, Stiles decided he was his own person, and if he had to face things like Gerard’s torture without anyone seeming to notice, then his choices from here on out didn’t have to be noticed either.

Everyone was distracted by everything else going on. After the heartbreak and tears involved in the process, Lydia was able to save Jackson. Then, there was dealing with Gerard. He was killed due to Scott. He had secretly dosed Gerard with Wolf’s Bane earlier in the evening, so Scott knowingly forced Derek to bite the elderly creep for him to die of bite rejection. Of course, being the humble jerk he was, Scott didn’t bother to tell anyone that. However, he also was in a fight with Allison who was drinking Gerard’s Kool-Aid, so who really knew anymore what Scott was thinking.

Instead of giving people drives home or even sticking around to address the chaos of the aftermath, Stiles slipped around and grabbed Peter by the arm. When Peter looked to him, Stiles put a finger to his lips, signaling for Peter to be quiet.

Peter stayed quiet but had an insanely annoying smirk on his face.

Stiles tugged him around to his jeep while the others were a mix of relief, betrayal, and pride. Stiles motioned for Peter to get into the jeep while moving to the driver’s side. Stiles did not even consider the man refusing as he had cooperated so far.

Starting the jeep up, Stiles heard Peter get into his jeep. Stiles didn’t look over to him until a few blocks away when he had to stop at a red light.

Before Stiles could speak, Peter did, saying, “Whisking me off to ravish me?”

Stiles growled in a way that could nearly put a wolf to shame. He then said, “No. We’re going to rescue Erica and Boyd from Gerard’s men.”

That made Peter growl, all smirking playfulness replaced with an unnerving amount of teeth in his serial killer smile. He then spoke around his wolf fangs as they dropped, “Well, maybe I am not as sane as I told Derek I was.”


	2. Risks & Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rescue. Reminder. Support.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This writing a longer piece is hard in terms of keeping up some level of unity. I have even more love for all the awesome authors on here! Y'all kick booty!
> 
> Also thank you to all the commenters and those who gave kudos on the last chapter <3

Stiles parked a block away from the Argents’ home. While he did not want to have his presence obvious via his beat-up Jeep, Stiles did not want his vehicle too far away if they needed to make a run for it. He took a deep breath, getting out of his Jeep. He pointedly ignored that Peter was watching him a little too closely.

They took a back way into the Argents’ backyard through their neighbor’s yard. Stiles tried to remain unseen in his approach even though he suspected they were not expecting company at the backdoor. Stiles had to keep his eyes to the ground of the backyard more than on the house as he understood right now would be horrible timing for a poorly placed footfall. He trusted Peter was keeping an eye on the house. Stiles knew Peter was a predator who had already killed one Argent.

Once they got quietly to the back of the Argents’ house, Stiles led Peter to the secret back hatch entry to the basement he had seen from inside during his torture. Before Peter could move further to bust his way in, Stiles stopped him. Stiles shook his head, knowing Peter would be able to see despite the low light of a night with a slivered moon. Stiles held up a hand to signal for Peter to wait just a moment longer. Stiles shuffled out of his flannel overshirt.

It was then that Peter likely heard Stiles’ wheezing breaths even louder than Stiles did. Peter probaly knew Stiles at least had bruised ribs. With everything he suspected Peter could read off the situation, Stiles just hoped the man was sane enough to not get them all killed in another revenge rampage.

Stiles mimed Peter using the flannel overshirt as a mask before shoving the garment into Peter’s hands in a fumbling motion. The unspoken truth was clear for them both that there would be a lot of Wolf’s Bane where they intended to go.

Peter tied the over shirt over to at least somewhat protect .himself from breathing in the Wolf’s Bane.

Stiles pulled out a slender chisel he’d swiped from wood shop class forever ago to prove he could. Stiles felt out the door and the line of the opening location he knew was there. Once he found the line, Stiles quietly forced the slender chisel into the line. He had to put some force into it, but he did get the chisel wedged into the line at an angle. Once he had the chisel in place, he moved, hoping Peter understood the angle of the chisel.

Peter nodded that he did. He slammed his hand down on the chisel from an angle, popping the door forcefully open. Thankfully it was not too loud to human ears.

With the double panel door popped open, Peter and Stiles walked into the Argents’ basement. Both were careful to not touch anything to avoid unintentionally poisoning themselves. The basement lights were on in full force as if to refuse rest to those inside. In the light, Stiles could see that Peter was in dark jeans, nondescript shoes, and a v-neck shirt with a brown leather jacket. Stiles could not help the brief moment of insecurity at how Peter’s clothes emphasized how fit and mature he was while Stiles’ own loose jean, tennis shoes, and oversized lacrosse jersey left him formless and juvenile. 

Stiles swallowed hard, finding his insecurities forgotten after only a second or two as they were in no position to be worried about clothes. They needed to get ERica and Boyd out of this dungeon of a basement.

They walked through weapons of all types on the walls from shotguns to saws. Upon further scrutiny, not only were there fatal weapons on the walls, but also shelves of weapons and other tools: pear of anguish, ammunition, deconstructed machine guns, a rocket launcher, surgical implements like a rib spreader, and more. As they walked deeper into the basement, they could see larger torture devices like an iron maiden, a wooden horse, and even an old metal fence wired up with a jumper cord to hook up to a generator.

No one was waiting for them in the basement besides the two unconscious teenage wolves fastened to the electrified fencing. Peter and Stiles moved quietly, hearing people upstairs, presumably the men with Gerard, but there was no way to be sure without running into them. When Peter went to grab Boyd, Stiles just barely stopped him, thinking Peter would be seriously hurt.

Peter rolled his eyes. He carefully took Boyd down and set him on the ground for a moment for Peter to get Erica loose. The electricity was unpleasant, but he would heal far faster than Stiles would if the people upstairs came down before they got out. Peter seemed more than interested in getting to rip some bodies apart, but the kids needed to be gotten out of here before that.

Once both teenage wolves were free, Stiles whispered, “How fast could you get them to where Derek’s pack is staying now?”

Peter perked a brow, but only said— “Faster with a vehicle.”

Stiles groaned, feeling he should have seen that coming, but the throbbing in his body felt like it was distracting his mind. He wanted to rub his face in frustration, but he didn’t dare. Everything in this basement was probably covered in Wolf’s Bane, which was poisonous to more than just wolves; thankfully to a lesser degree in humans, but this was no time to tempt fate.

Thinking if they were fast they could dodge both packs in taking the teen wolves to safety, Stiles dug his keys out of his pocket. He really wanted to avoid dealing with either pack, but he was with Peter already anyways. He muttered quietly to himself as he got moving to leave the basement before they found themselves overcome with unwanted company.

Peter followed behind with one teenage wolf thrown over each shoulder.

Stiles did not bother to close the secret door behind them as there would be no hiding someone had been there. He worked to get himself back to his jeep as quickly as he could without falling on his face. He had to be a bit slower on the Argents’ yard, but once onto the sidewalk, he outright ran. All the time, he kept thinking that he should probably be thankful for all his running for his life: it certainly kept him in running shape. He at no point looked back, assuming Peter was following him.

Stiles was wrong. When he came upon his Jeep, he saw Peter there. He still held the two teenage wolves. Strangely, he did not have a smirk on his face. He instead set down both teens. He then opened the back door to Stiles’ Jeep and one at a time, slipped each of the teenage werewolves into the seats; he even buckled their seatbelts.

Stiles came to a stop at his Jeep just in time for Peter to have shut the back doors. After getting into the Jeep and realizing he had left it unlocked, Stiles looked to Peter. It was then he noticed that Peter did not even open the passenger door.

Peter flashed him a smirk, and then walked off into the bushes, out of sight.

After clenching his fists to express his frustration, Stiles sighed and started his jeep up. He drove the old, abandoned train yard on the outskirts of town. He had ‘overheard’ Isaac telling Boyd that’s where they were staying if he ever wanted to get a break from home. Stiles quietly muttered to himself the whole drive, saying things like, “And of course, even Peter the crazy wolf believes I’m just the token human.”

Once about halfway into the train yard, Stiles stopped his jeep, turning it off. He then got out of his jeep. Stiles assumed with how paranoid Derek could be he’d want to have a lot of places to escape to and or hide. He looked around with that perspective in mind. Seeing a promising option, he jogged over to the train car. Next, he opened the train car door. He looked in, and seeing some of Isaac’s clothes and couple duffle bags, Stiles was satisfied that his assumption had been correct.

After he’d jogged back to his jeep of teen wolves, Stiles looked at the wolves. Although he was not one hundred percent sure at first about getting Boyd and Erica out of his jeep, Stiles pulled out Boyd first since he knew him less. Stiles then dragged Boyd to just outside the train car he had left open. He then left Boyd for a short bit as he went back to the jeep. He dragged Erica as well. He really hoped their werewolf weight translated into durability even when unconscious.

With both wolves just outside the train car, he took a moment to breathe. Stiles then worked to drag Boyd up onto his own shoulder. With a grunt he got Boyd up to his chest and tipped him partially up into the train car. He then slowly pushed the rest of Boyd’s body up into the train car as well. Next was Erica. She, weighing less than Boyd, was easier to pull up onto his chest and then tip and push into the train car. With both wolves in and his whole body screaming in pain at every move it took to get to this moment, Stiles closed the train car door hoping it would protect them.

Limping back to his jeep, Stiles hoped Erica and Boyd were safe left here because he genuinely had no idea what else he could do. For a moment he considered staying, but every breath Stiles took hurt too much. While he was not willing to go to the hospital, Stiles just desperately wanted to go home and to sleep.

Next thing Stiles knew he was climbing up the stairs in his house, not really remembering having driven or even walked to get to where he was. As he walked to his room, Stiles ran into his Dad.

After lying to his Dad about what happened after the lacrosse game and seeing him off to work, Stiles crawled into his own bed. He did not bother to take off his shoes. He still had his phone and the keys to his jeep in his pockets. Stiles just could not care. He hurt so deeply it was bordering on an out of body experience.

Stiles felt the tears before it registered that he was crying. No one saw. No one noticed that anything was wrong. He hurt so much, but no one saw. Stiles knew that his being sidelined and ignored was nothing new. He felt lower than the second string in the lives of all his supposed friends, especially his supposed brother. It burned as if he was being licked by white hot flames thinking about all the words and secrets and lies.

Falling into a deeper and deeper void of self-deprecation for what felt like a lifetime, Stiles was eventually interrupted by the sound of someone opening his window from the outside. Stiles did not have the will to get up. He hurt so much that it was simply not worth it to get up and ask what was wanted of him. He was done being their carpet to use and discard at will.

Stiles heard someone drop into his room that he assumed was a wolf. He did not bother to get up or turn on a light. He had no interest in talking to any of the wolves right now. There was nothing they could say that would be worth hearing at this point in his opinion.

Stiles then heard someone step into another room. He didn’t care. His Dad was not home, and he knew the wolves would leave him alone. They worked hard enough to keep their secret to not want the Sheriff involved. Stiles rolled over, letting himself pass out by letting the pain take him away.

The next thing Stiles knew was that there was a weight on his bed. He rolled over in his bed, blinking his eyes open to be facing one Peter Hale. Stiles then noticed that he did not have his shoes or his jeans on anymore. He raised a brow at Peter.

\-------------------------------------

A couple days later…

Allison was utterly surprised to have Lydia at her door. The huntress had not seen her friend since before Kate died. Were they even still okay? They had to be, right?

Before Allison could demand answers, the beautiful redhead asked, “Can I come in?”

Although she had limited experience of late, Allison thought she could tell when Lydia was playing someone. Right now, Allison assumed Lydia had to be trying to play her. Allison rested both of her hands on her hips, flashing a skeptic look at Lydia.

That was when she noticed something very important: Lydia was not wearing any make up. None. Maybe Lydia was not playing? Allison was not so sure now. She opened the door wider, and nodded to Lydia while saying, “Sure. Let’s go up to my room.”

Once they were both in Allison’s room, Lydia closed the door and then moved to sit on Ally’s bed. She patted the spot right bedside herself.

Allison sighed and sat down beside Lydia. Ally assumed this was likely about Lydia and Jackson, the existence of werewolves, or something of the like. She had not spoken to any of them since things with Jackson the kanima went down. She still had not gotten up the nerve to apologize to Stiles, Erica, or Boyd. Allison was not really feeling up to talking much, hence her avoiding everything and anything to do with Scott. But before she could tell Lydia any of that, she heard a sob.

Allison’s eyes got huge as she looked to Lydia to see her crying. On a form of automatic that predated Allison learning about the supernatural, she hugged Lydia close, comforting her through her tears. Allison knew that no matter what they would still have each other. All her initial doubts were gone.

\-------------------------------------

Present…

In pastel yellow heels, a short light blue calico print dress, and with wildly loose hair, Lydia should be cold, but she clearly did not register that sensation. Lydia was tightly holding Stiles’ hand in her own. Her grip was so tight, pretty pink nails digging in deep with the trauma of her trance. 

Stiles found himself barely refraining from grinding his teeth to keep from yanking his hand back from her. In tennis shoes, loose jeans, an oversized Iron Man t-shirt, and an open red flannel, Stiles did feel the cold Lydia did not, but he was more focused on what they were doing than his own comfort.

Stiles kept an eye on Lydia as she led him through the preserve. He had no idea where they were going or what they would find; however, he had been working with Lydia on the use and control of her powers.

It was almost a game the way they had come to researching, practicing, and theorizing about both her Banshee abilities and Stiles’ magic. Things neared competition when practicing, but never in a moment like this. While neither of them was an expert in their respective areas yet, Stiles and Lydia were brilliant enough to figure out some key tactics for harnessing at least a bit of their abilities.

Now was no less a part of that, even if only in the peripheral, as Stiles followed and held onto Lydia as she moved in a trance through the preserve. Someone in the forest was dying and or close to it, unintentionally calling to the banshee.

Lydia was not alone when the trance came on. No matter how tight she held to him, Stiles knew he could not for a second let her go. A lot of his focus, when not absorbed in keeping an eye on how she was doing, worked on not tripping or falling on the uneven ground of the preserve filled with grasses, dirt, trees, and shrubs.

In the rush to follow and be held onto by Lydia, Stiles had not been thinking about bringing a flashlight, but rather he was keener on making sure to bring his new Mountain ash blend and a few other safety precautions. Those precautions also included a text to their back up.

Stiles hoped they would not run into the same kind of trouble Scott and he had run into what felt like forever ago when they had gone into the preserve looking for a dead body.

Stiles then heard a thumping up ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment & kudo!


	3. Night & Lifes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love lost? Help. Red eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the Alison/Scott tag--finally figured out how to list it as in the past.

A few months before…

Stiles perked a brow, face to face with Peter Hale. Peter Hale in his bed. Peter Hale looking back at Stiles. 

Under normal circumstances, Stiles knew he would hurl himself flailing out of his own bed and away from said Peter Hale; however, the moment Stiles went to move—at least make some distance between them—Stiles’ chest was a massive, spasming, sharp pain that made the pain of inhaling seem like child’s play by comparison. That pain radiated down into the numerous cuts, bruises, and his over-used muscles of the night. Stiles barely contained a whine of pain, choking on his lack of sound, hardly moving. 

The pain must have shown as he next felt a soft, warm hand splayed on his back, having slipped under his lacrosse jersey. Before he could fully react, Stiles felt the sweet relief of his pain being drained. He nearly moaned at the relief. Stiles took a less burdened breath, then opened his mouth to speak—

Peter beat him to it with a smirk, saying, “Just accept the relief and—”

Stiles did not wait for Peter to continue. He could already tell the man did not especially care for what Stiles thought in the moment. Rather than fight the relief, Stiles spoke, unburdened by pain, “If you kill me, I’ll find a way… pain will be nothing by comparison…”

He would have continued, but he drifted to sleep too quickly for more. The relief from pain was too much to not succumb to his exhaustion.

\------------------------------------------------------

A couple days later…

Lydia had not seen Jackson in school since she supposedly helped to save him. It was not too shocking, considering all the chaos of that night. She knew he had to be emotionally and physically exhausted from everything to do with being the kanima. Honestly, she would have been more surprised if he did show up for school.

In a short, lavender skirt, a white blouse, and white heels, Lydia stood outside his house, knocking on the door. She looked so much like a red-headed china doll, forever youthful and shiny-new. Even though she hated it, she felt a bit of hopefulness breaking out on her face in the form of a smile.

After a moment of nothing, she knocked again.

Finally, she heard something on the other side of the door. It opened, but only enough for Jackson to step out of the house in his black Vans, Armani jeans, and white Gucci polo shirt. 

For a brief second, Lydia thought something was off, but it was all forgotten the moment Jackson started speaking.

Jackson said, “What are you doing here?”

Lydia’s smile fell as she said, “Checking on you. Things were pretty rough the night with the kanima. I figured since you’ve had time to rest we could talk about what happened.”

Jackson frowned, crossing his arms in front of his chest, saying, “Well, there’s nothing to talk about. That night was no big deal. Just a blip. I am stronger now. Nothing is going to mess with me, even you.”

Lydia said, “What? A blip? … Wait, what do you mean me?”

Jackson nodded, saying, “Yeah, you. You are who made me weak, and that night I was finally able to let go of your burden. Now, go. You’re not welcome here.”

Before Lydia could respond at all, Jackson went back into his home, slamming the door in her face.

Not knowing what to do, Lydia could feel tears running down her face before she even processed any of whatever just happened. Slowly, she walked back to her car. She climbed in blankly. She then drove to the only place she thought of. 

Once she pulled up outside of Alison’s house, Lydia looked in her rear-view mirror, seeing she had steadily cried her way here and smeared a lot of her makeup. She swallowed hard, grabbed her purse, and pulled out her makeup bag. Using supplies from her makeup bag, she cleaned the makeup off her face. She checked the mirror with a frown, sighing at herself. She left her things in her car as she got out, holding just her keys as she locked her car door. 

Several deep breathes later, Lydia was knocking on Alison’s front door. 

When Alison opened the door, Lydia took a moment and then asked, “Can I come in?”

\------------------------------------------------------  
Evening …

In his bedroom, Stiles sat at his computer chair in white tube socks, gray sweatpants, and a Spiderman graphic t-shirt, the latter covering up the worst of his black and purple bruises. He leaned forward, reading on his computer. There were twelve different tabs open in his internet browser, and the tab he was currently reading from was a forum entry about crazed and feral werewolves. 

At the same time, Stiles took a drink of coffee. It was nearing one am in the evening, or rather, the morning, but Stiles considered coffee a good alternative to sleeping. Well, that along with his ”accidental” use of his Adderall prescription too late at night. Stiles didn’t even feign innocence on the topic: he simply had not been bringing it up.

Researching his brains out for hopefully an all-nighter, Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin as he flailed suddenly out of his chair at the sounds of his bedroom window being opened from the outside. He turned to face the window just in time to watch Peter-freaking-Hale climb through his window!

Stiles was not entirely sure the point of this visit, but he himself was quite torn. The other night, he thought, Peter had come to his room and laid with him; however, Peter was gone when Stiles woke. He wasn’t sure if he was mad about it or not. At the time, he was grateful. He was in no rush to tell his Dad why a grown man was in his bed. He doubted that would go any better than his on-the-spot attempt at coming out to his Dad. At least that time outside the club, Stiles could cover it up as nothing serious rather than expressing how he really felt in that moment regardless of his bad timing.

Once Peter was fully inside with his black jeans, shoes, and V-neck shirt on, Stiles said in one long exhale of frustration, “You know, this is a private residence—I don’t get how you guys are out of the loop on that. I have no interest in being the Pepper Pots to all you Hale Iron Mans.”

Peter did not even falter his smirk as he chuckled at Stiles’ words. He instead kicked off his shoes. Next, he took off his belt that Stiles had not noticed he was wearing.

Stiles’ eyes got big as he partially froze, staring at the older man, saying, “Whoa… what are you doing?!”

Peter looked Stiles in the eye, saying, “Well, word is you aren’t sleeping and—”

“Whoa... no… whatever you’re about to do, say—no!” Stiles replied, making some more space between them even though they were not close to start with.

Rolling his eyes, Peter continued, “Anyways, you need to sleep. Derek wants me to give him a break from me. Two birds, one stone.”

With his belt off, Peter then slid off his pants to reveal his black boxer briefs that left nothing of his sculpted Greek-god physic to the imagination, let alone his large manhood.

Stiles nearly choked a moment on his own saliva in shock at seeing the other man so stripped down. He could not help himself—Stiles simply stared without blinking until Peter broke the spell with a chuckle.

Stiles frowned.

Before the younger man could speak, Peter spoke as he motioned to Stiles’ bed, “While I do love the stroke to my ego, I’m pretty tired. And you, well, you’ve not slept since the night I was with you... so…”

Stiles swallowed thickly, a bit alarmed that Peter knew about the lack of sleep in such specifics. Rather than following Peter’s intentions, Stiles said, “And how do you know that? Are you some kind of creeper wolf in addition to a zombie?”

Peter chuckled, rolling his eyes, “You can fight this but still get some sleep or cooperate and get some sleep. You pick.” 

Stiles closed his eyes for a moment. Then, upon reopening his eyes, Stiles asked, “And what do I get if I cooperate?”

That response caused Peter’s smirk to turn into an outright devious grin. Seemed he liked this version of events—“Hmm… taking a card from my play deck? What about your boyscout brother?”

Stiles took a slow breath, not breaking eye contact as he said, “You mean your ex-beta?”

Peter frowned briefly before smirking once more, brushing Stiles’ words off with a “Does crazy mean nothing to you? And, I’ll tell you a secret if you come lay down to sleep.”

Stiles sighed—he couldn’t pass up the chance to learn more, figuring there was no telling when or where the secret could be of use. Despite his agreement, Stiles didn’t bother with any bed-prep as he doubted that he’d sleep for long if he even fell asleep at all. As a result, he left his computer and the bedroom light on. He figured he’d be back to it sooner rather than later.

Just as Stiles sat on his own bed, Peter moved to and turned off the bedroom light.

Stiles rolled his eyes at Peter, but he still laid down. A moment later, he felt the bed dip beside him. 

Like the last time, Peter touched him and drained his pain. However, unlike last time, Peter pulled Stiles’ back to his front, spooning him with an arm draped over Stiles and draining pain.

Stiles sank into the wolf’s warmth that mingled with the pain relief. He tried to stay awake, to get his secret. He opened his mouth to mention it. But before he could, Peter began rumbling behind him: a steady sound and vibration almost like a purr, but from a wolf.

Peter then leaned his head closer to whisper in Stiles’ ear: “I meant to bite you that night.”

Stiles hummed along, too tired to doubt or believe.

A couple hours into his sleep, Stiles was gently shaken awake by Peter.

Stiles woke with a start, grasping Peter with a white-knuckled grip. He stared at Peter for a moment before recognition came into Stiles’ eyes. At the same moment Stiles understood that Peter woke him, that they were in his room, and that he had been sleeping, Stiles let go of Peter. Instead, Stiles sat up and ran his hands through his own sweat-slicked hair with shaking hands.

Peter did not ask what Stiles had been dreaming of. The look in Stiles’ eyes and his panicked breaths in sleep had told Peter enough.

With a deep breath or six, Stiles calmed some. He was not relaxed, but he was calmer. Without thought, Stiles laid back down and moved a bit closer to Peter, finding something grounding in feeling that he was not alone, for once. Stiles then, to distract his mind, asked, “You know, it didn’t look like you were staying in the train yard with Derek and the rest of his pack. Where do you live?”

Peter said, “In an underground network of caves hidden deep in the woods.”

“Whoa. Really?”

“No, you idiot. I have an apartment downtown.”

Stiles burst out laughing. Normally he would be less than okay with being called an idiot, but it was so out of the blue, Peter’s response, that it broke the heavy post-nightmare air in the room. 

Peter smirked, saying, “Think you can get back to sleep after that revelation?”

\------------------------------------------------------

Present … 

Stiles felt himself actively working to not tense in Lydia’s grip as she led him closer to the thumping sound coming from somewhere ahead of them. He no longer felt the cold. He was too taken with the foreboding unknown Lydia was leading him to.

After a few more paces of Lydia leading with Stiles in her grip, Alison silently stepped out from their right side as if she had been there the whole time. She at least made a soft courtesy noise to reduce the shock of her appearance. Clearly short of breath but not allowing herself to breathe at the panting speed her body seemed to want, Alison softly said, “I’m going to drop a bit behind. Just wanted you to know I’m here.”

Stiles could not help but be aware of how much Alison looked exactly like the hunter she was in her dark denim jeans, combat-style boots, fastened smooth leather jacket, hip holster, quiver and bow, let alone whatever unseen weapons she had on herself.

Stiles nodded to Alison, nearly falling to the ground as Lydia stopped suddenly, gripping Stiles somehow harder.

Alison paused her movements, drawing an arrow and loading it into her bow. She pulled the bow taut, aiming ahead of them, ready for whatever came next.

Without seeming aware of her own words, Lydia whimpered as she moved forward again, but faster— “So much pain in red eyes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you are excited for what comes next. Like the longer chapter? Am debating on if I want to stick with doing longer or shorter chapters.


	4. Right Answers & Wrong Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recruiting. Apology. Bodies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry updates are so inconsistent! In rl, I have an autoimmune disease that is playing extra havoc with all the stress lately.

A month before …

Scott stood in the preserve, waiting in a space between two nearly limbless, decaying trees. He felt powerful with his red eyes: the sign of his being a true alpha. A true alpha, in his mind, meant he was so honorable that he did not have to kill to get those red eyes. He could persevere through pure will power and doing the moral thing. He often thought, if that way of becoming an alpha was not honorable, then what was?

He then heard the chaos coming his way. Jackson and Theo were running down a group of coyotes, herding them toward Scott. Many of the coyotes tried to change course, but Jackson and Theo made sure to chase aggressively at them. The wolves in human skin set a panicked pace while not allowing the coyotes to get past them in their nearly crazed method of pursuit. Growling and drawing blood when they could, Theo and Jackson kept the group of coyotes running to Scott. 

Deaton had warned Scott that there was a victim among the coyotes—a girl trapped in her shift. Upon finding this out, Scott assumed it was a sign that he had to rescue the girl. He believed it would cement his being a true alpha, which he thought equaled moral superiority. 

As he saw the group of coyotes barreling through the trees towards him, Scott took a deep breath and let loose his alpha roar.

When his roar hit the coyotes, most just kept running to escape as best as they could; however, one skidded to a stop as she began to shift. She dropped to her knees as she finished shifting to her human form. The girl held her hands up, studying her wiggling digits. She seemed to be trying to process what just happened.

The coyote turned girl had a lithe build, tanned skin, and long, mousey brown hair. She seemed to have no issue with being completely bare in front of three guys, but rather she continued to focus on her human hands. It seemed she may not have been human for a very long time.

Scott, smiling, approached her without any real caution. 

He stepped within her arm span but faltered when she turned to him and growled. Scott was not expecting that reaction; he was the hero after all.

The she-coyote kept her predatory eyes on Scott. She didn’t rush to stand or flee. She seemed to be adjusting to her human body, but it was hard to say for sure.

Scott slowly took a pouch from the back pocket of his pants. He knelt to her level as he took a necklace out of the pouch. The piece of jewelry was simply a small but full pouch on a string. Scott then said, “I know you may be confused, but I have something that will help you: this necklace. I need to put it on you, but then everything will be okay.”

While Scott knelt to her level, holding her attention, Theo and Jackson approached her from behind.

Scott moved like he was going to try to put the necklace on her.

The she-coyote immediately threw herself back from the approaching predator, but Jackson and Theo were close enough to latch onto her, holding her still just barely. There would no doubt be bruises on her when all was said and done.

Scott moved fast, attaching the necklace onto her as Jackson and Theo were struggling to maintain a hold of her with her fast, wild movements. 

The moment the necklace was latched on her, she stopped struggling. She looked to Scott with expressionless eyes and said, “Thank you so much for saving me, Alpha. I’m sorry I did not realize you were helping me.”

\--------------------------------------------

Two weeks Later … 

Three murdered. Their bodies in the morgue. 

Stiles swallowed hard—he could do this. It’s not like he hasn’t been in the morgue before with it white medical walls for dealing with the dead and taupe offices for addressing the living. He shook out his hands and checked through the door window to see if the room he sought was empty. It looked clear, so as quietly as he could, he slid the door open and stepped in. Inside, he checked his phone, but Lydia had not messaged, which was as much of a go-ahead as he could get.

He walked around, looking for files on the murders. Struggling to find what he was looking for—cause of death and names of the murder victims—Stiles decided that he would take a faster option. He may not like it, but he had no way of knowing how long Lydia would be able to keep the front desk attendant busy with hair twirling flirtations.

Stiles walked out of the room and crept to a different, colder room. He checked for anyone in there first. Seeing no one, Stiles slipped into the room and walked straight to the wall with the drawers of body storage. 

He knew there were only three murdered people here. With a steadying breath, Stiles mentally reminded himself that he didn’t need any of the wolves for help with this. It wasn’t like they were hounding to support him or notice anything different with him, Forcing himself forward, Stiles started pulling the drawers out, checking for the ones that had bodies. Most were empty. One had an older person who showed no signs of anything but old age. He soon came upon what he was looking for: murder victims.

One at a time, he rolled them out of their drawers all the way. He took notes in his phone as he worked one body at a time.

The first body was a woman. She had light blonde hair, a face full of laugh lines, and she was petite. Stiles noted the she did not have many calluses on her hands, but quite a bit on the bottom of her feet. Stiles took a lot of notes about her appearance, working around his horror at what had happened to her.

After a closed eyes moment with himself, he pulled more of the sheet off the body, seeing a glimpse of what was likely a very painful death: she had deep claw marks all over her body. Her chest was ripped open. Stiles noted to himself there seemed to be some blade cuts as well. It was a complete mess even with the blood cleaned off the corpse. After he noted all he could about the woman, Stiles slid her drawer shut.

He then turned away from body storage to the counter in the room. He looked around further, realizing that under the counter were filing cabinets possibly for active files. Growling quietly at himself, Stiles searched the counter itself for more information on the bodies. Nothing.

Despite the counter being devoid of anything helpful, Stiles knelt down and started looking through the file cabinets. It was harder without names, but he was looking rather for numbers—numbers that matched the toe tag on the woman’s big toe. 

Stiles hoped it would work. It did, with way more sorting than he’d hoped would be required. This problem was taking him too long. Grabbing the file when he found it, he did not bother reading it. Instead, he took a picture of each page in the file before putting it back.

Just then, he got a vibration from his phone, signaling a text. He opened his phone back up, reading the text:

Lydia: Done yet?

Stiles: Close

Lydia: Hurry

Stiles: K

Stile then returned to the wall of body drawers. He hunted quickly, noting on his phone the toe tag numbers of the two other bodies obviously murdered in similar fashions to the initial murdered body. He then put them away and went to the file cabinets. He rushed through to find the needed files. He took pictures of all the pages in the files. He then put everything back the way it was.

After stuffing his phone in his pocket, Stiles slipped out of the room. He then slipped out of a back door of the morgue that assistants used to sneak out for smoke breaks. Thankfully, none of them were there to see him leave as he texted:

Stiles: Out

Lydia: finally

Stiles smiled, knowing she really didn’t like having to flirt just to get what she wanted as much as she used to. He then moved to head home—he’d need to make his father dinner soon—however, he also stopped by a bakery to get Lydia her favorite lemon squares on the way home.

Just as he drove his blue Jeep into the driveway, Stiles felt another text. Once he had the Jeep parked and off, Stiles took his phone from his pocket to see who texted him. Looking, he realized that it was not a text but a voice message, from his Dad.

Stiles frowned at having missed the call, but he listened to the message before getting out of the Jeep. It seemed his Dad had to pick up a second shift due to the murders. 

\--------------------------------------------

Later that evening …

In a pink blouse and skinny faded jeans, Lydia was sitting on Stiles’ bed looking through a tome Stiles had gotten a hold of a while back, having long since kicked off her yellow heels. His resourcefulness could be quite shocking if one were to underestimate him. Lydia worked not to. Too many surprises could cause wrinkles, she thought with a smile.

Having noticed her smile, Stiles asked, “Find anything helpful?”

She looked over to where Stiles was sitting in his computer chair, wearing loose jeans and a baggy graphic t-shirt depicting the maze from Labyrinth, looking through some print outs they had gotten from Alison. With a shrug, Lydia said, “Not really. The Latin to English translation is a bit inconsistent, so it takes a bit to understand. I wish a version in the original Latin was just lying around for us to use.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, seemingly knowing she just wished that there was a true playbook on being a Banshee rather than just bits and pieces here and there. He then offered: “Want to take a break and grab something to eat? I even suspect there may be some company interested.”

Lydia smiled, knowing exactly what he meant. She asked, “Want Alison to bring her Dad too?”

Stiles shook his head with a grin, “Naw, was hoping our favorite serial killer would join us.”

She sighed, saying, “I know there is something going on with him that’s helping you, but I just… what he did to me? To bring him back… I just. It’s hard to move past that.”

Stiles got up, setting the papers he was holding aside. After moving to her, Stiles hugged Lydia close, saying, “I know, I know… but he, of everyone, knows the most about what you are. You don’t have to like him, be nice to him, or anything like that. And if you don’t want to question him or take that avenue to learn more about yourself, then we won’t. I won’t force this on you.”

\--------------------------------------------

Across town …

Scott was sitting behind the school, leaning against the side of the tan building and waiting. He had been out of lacrosse practice for a few minutes. One of his fellow players—Adrian—was really struggling with being a bench warmer. It seemed he had joined the team to grow in social status. It was seriously not working. 

It was a little rougher being in lacrosse with Stiles having quit the team, but he at least had Jackson. However, with Issac also on the team, Scott was itching for having more support to make sure the other pack didn’t get any ideas of trying to get to him through the team.

Scott suggested to Adrian to meet him behind the school after practice, figure they could both be helped if Adrian agreed to the bite. 

While waiting for Adrian, Scott texted Alison: Hey, wanna meet up to grab a bite to eat?

Scott then noticed Adrian heading his way. He struggled to wait, so he started walking toward Adrian.

Adrian was wearing a tight black t-shirt and slightly baggy tan khaki pants. With his backpack hanging on one shoulder, he said, “Hey Scott, what’s you want to talk about?”

“Well, I wanted to offer you a way to be stronger and faster… it could cause you to no longer be a bench warmer,” Scott replied.

\--------------------------------------------

The next afternoon…

After school and lacrosse practice, Scott had walked to Alison’s house. He would have had a ride, but Stiles was no where to be found to recruit into his getting Alison back plan. In regular fit jeans, gray sneakers, and a red t-shirt, Scott walked right up to the Argent’s front door like it was the most right and natural thing to do. He knocked on their door, imagining Alison leaping out at him with a hug or a kiss desperate for him, wanting him back now that he was a true alpha.

Instead of Scott’s assumed outcome, Chris Argent, Alison’s dad, answered the door. Wearing dark colored jeans, a white t-shirt, a buttoned up dark green shirt, boots, 5 o’clock shadow, and his signature frown, Chris looked as no nonsense as ever when he saw Scott at his door. His silence spoke volumes Scott was clearly not listening to.

Scott piped up, saying, “Hey, is Alison home?”

Chris sighed, and then said, “No.”

“Oh,” Scott said. “Well, can I wait for her to get home inside?”

“No,” Chris said as he stepped out of his home, shutting the door behind himself, his body language loud and clear on the subject.

Scott did not notice, instead asking, “Well, do you at least know when she’s going to be home?”

“No,” Chris responded, seemingly expecting Scott to get the message. 

Scott frowned a bit. He then asked, “Do you know where she is? I could go and meet up with her… I know she wants to catch up on things.”

“No,” Chris said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Scott finally stopped, glaring at Chris as he left. Scott refused to let Chris keep Alison from him. They were meant to be together. Nothing could come between them. He knew that if only he could talk to Alison everything would be fixed and they’d get back together.

Once Scott had left, Chris went back into his house. 

\--------------------------------------------

Present …

Scott and Theo left to look for Peter, knowing the rest of their pack was doing the same, having started from a different part of preserve. He smiled to himself, knowing that his powerful, better pack would find the deranged wolf that was Peter before Derek and his even made it halfway to wherever Peter was.

Hoping that things would align for Peter to be put down, Scott was all smiles as they moved around through the darkness to find Peter. Perhaps as a true alpha it was his duty to put down the unjust? Maybe it would cause Alison to even see him as a hero, as boyfriend material again.

A snippet of “Rockstar” by Nickleback blared from Scott’s phone to notify him of a text. He paused in his walking to check his text notification.

Adrian: Malia hears people fighting deeper in the preserve. Want us to investigate?

Theo moved to where Scott had stopped. He looked over Scott’s shoulder at the text, asking, “Do we need to head their way?”

Scott shrugged, saying, “Probably. I don’t want it to be Peter and we miss out on catching him before he kills someone. He’s incredibly dangerous.”

Scott: Yes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments & kudos are appreciated <3


	5. Discovery & Recruiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magic. Apology. Surprise.

Months before…

Derek and Issac, united, walked into the train yard. It was late with no one around but them, yet they moved in an emotionally thick lack of words. Following the weaving path to the train car they lived sheerly from memory, Issac got to the train car first, opening it and stopping dead rather than climbing inside.

Thinking over how Scott betrayed him by forcing him to bite that monster Gerard Argent, Derek desperately wanted to change out of his clothes. His clothes held the many scents of the night, which included not only betrayal but also the fight with the kanima. He was beyond ready to call the clothes a loss and trash them. He intended to follow that up with some much-needed sleep.

At Issacs’s gasp, Derek was instantly alert. He looked to see what had affected Issac, finding both Erica and Boyd laying unconscious on the floor of the train car. They both smelled of Wolf’s Bane and blood, but very much alive. Being in the train car rather than out wherever they had fled to for an opportunity at a new pack was concerning. 

Derek, in torn up dark jeans, medium gray t-shirt, and boots, jumped up into the train car past Issac, immediately forgetting his previous desire to change out of the contaminated clothes. Wolf’s Bane be damned, he checked both of his previous betas to see how badly they were hurt. He did not attempt to try to smell where they had been, knowing the Wolf’s Bane already tickling his senses would cover anything of use.

\--------------------------------------------

Three days later…

Stiles, in gray sweatpants and a hole-riddled blue shirt, walked circles around the map he had previous placed on his floor. He circled it three times before he moved to stand directly on the bright white duct tap line on his carpet that signified North. It was not the only tape marking his bedroom. There was medium blue tape marking the East, bright red for South, and gray-ish blue duct tape for West. The map was in the center of the loose duct tape ring signaled by the three-inch individual colored lines for the directions.

He took a deep breath and then raised his arms overhead, palms splayed. Stiles then spoke in a soft, quiet voice while still standing on the bright white duct tape line he spoke, “I awaken thee, North.”

Stiles moved to stand on the medium blue duct tape, saying, “I awaken thee, East.”

Next, he moved to stand on the bright red duct tape, saying line, “I awaken thee, South.”

Then, he moved to stand on the gray-ish blue duct tape line, saying, “I awaken thee, West.”

Finally, Stiles moved to again stand on the bright white duct line, saying, “I complete this circle barred by the directions of North, East, South, and West.”

Stiles then took a half step forward and knelt before the map of Beacon Hills laid out upon his floor. He closed his eyes to the world as he began to chant—“Light as a feather… “

\--------------------------------------------

Two weeks later…

Boyd and Erica sat in the train car, playing go fish with worn cards from Boyd’s house when Issac slid the train car door open. 

He climbed inside the train car, taking a seat as he asked, “Leaving again?”

While both Boyd and Erica looked to him, it was Erica who responded, saying, “Not right now.”

Issac frowned some saying, “So, eventually.”

Erica sighed and then said, “We don’t know. We may end up staying forever, or not. I don’t… we… I, no, we just need some time to think. Kinda get our bearings, ya know?”

She continued, “I mean, there’s nothing like torture so make someone a bit gun-shy.”

Issac nodded, understanding.

\--------------------------------------------

Across town…

Alison stood in front of Stiles’ front door wearing a burgundy tunic tank top with a black cropped sweater, denim jeans, and modest heels. Her hair was in loose waves, falling about her shoulders as she reached out and knocked on the door.

She could hear someone hollering from inside the house, saying “Coming!”

Suddenly the front door swung open to reveal Stiles Stilinski wearing loose sweats and a lacrosse jersey with no shoes on in all his pale gangly glory. He’d had a smile, but the moment he saw who was at his door, that friendly expression died on his face. He took on a colder attitude as he stated, “What are you doing here?”

Alison swallowed the lump trying to form in her throat. She knew this wouldn’t be easy, but it had to be done. She asked, “May I come in?”

Stiles did not move, saying, “Why? Decide shooting defenseless people was less fun when they couldn’t run?”

She visibly flinched at his words, not daring to make eye contact for a moment of pause. With a deep breath, she looked in his eyes and said, “No, I wanted to apologize.”

\--------------------------------------------

Across town…

In faded jeans, a gray t-shirt, black hoodie, and dark sneakers, Scott was bouncing his leg while he sitting, waiting in the animal clinic back room where animals were treated. He had not turned on any lights even though he had already turned off the security alarm. 

There was a knock at the back door that lead into the alley way, causing Scott to jump up from his seat and rush to the back door.

He opened the door for Jackson, the first to arrive. 

Jackson had on his bitch face in full force while wearing jeans and a pollo shirt with non-descript brown shoes. He stepped in and moved to the middle of room and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked to Scott. “Why am I here?”

Scott smiled his happy puppy smile that Jackson liked to mock, patting Jackson on the shoulder. “I’ll explain when Theo gets here.”

Jackson perked a brow. “Theo? What, is this some kind of love fest you’ve got me here about?”

Before Scott could say anything one way or another, there was a knock on the back door.

Scott went and opened the door, revealing another teen boy in jeans, a gray shirt, and a black overshirt with spiked hair who walked in like he owned the place.

Jackson sneered, “I take it you are Theo?”

“Yeah,” Theo said with a smile. “You must be Jackson. Scott has told me so much about you.”

Jackson rolled his eyes.

Theo motioned toward Scott, saying, “Take it away.”

Still sporting his happy puppy smile, Scott said, “Look, I know you do not want to follow Derek. He and his uncle killed you, or, well, tried to. I totally get it, but you need protection now that you know about the supernatural. I promise it only gets worse. But, what if there was a different option than Derek?”

Jackson rolled his eyes again, saying “Get to point. I’ve places to be, a reputation to keep.”

Scott said while flashing his red eyes, “Well, I’m an alpha now. I could protect you. We could be a pack, the three of us.”

Jackson did not change his expression bit also made no move to leave. After what Scott assumed was time to think, Jackson said, “What’s in this for me?”

Scott hesitated a moment, saying, “You mean besides protection?”

Jackson nodded somehow tightly with attitude.

Scott opened his mouth to respond.

However, Theo grabbed his shoulder instead, saying, “Please, Alpha. Let me.”

Scott gave a nod, smiling at having been asked.

Theo then said, “Well, how about being a part of what could be, if not already, the strongest pack of the best of the best?”

That seemed to catch Jackson interest as he nodded, saying “Okay, what would that mean in terms of… what do I need to do?”

Theo smirked. “Well, for now, it means you wear the same anklets as me and our Alpha. Kind of like team uniforms, only less obvious. Plus they’re magical.”

“Magical? How so?” Jackson asked in what he hoped was a hushed enthusiasm, trying not to belie the fact that he may have already been drawn in. 

Scott took over, speaking excitedly, “They’re so cool: yours is even a bit different from ours to show you are high ranking in the pack; they also make it so we can find each other no matter where we are. Deaton gave them to us so that if something happens, we’ll all be able to find and help each other.”

Jackson looked to Scott, perking a brow with a slightly bemused grin on his face— “The veterinarian?”

\--------------------------------------------

Three days later…

Lydia sat outside the school, on the bleachers for watching lacrosse, reading during her lunch break. 

Stiles walked up and sat beside her with his lunch tray in hand, setting it aside as he spoke, “So, I was thinking I may have found a way to experiment with the banshee cry that you read about. If I have found a way to test if you have this super cool and awesome new supernatural ability…thing and allow you to practice it…on me, I guess, do I get a reward?”

Lydia looked up to him nearly instantly as she slapped a finger down in her book to hold her spot. She then let a shy smile creep onto her lips as she said, “As long the reward for discovering it isn’t a threesome with me and Alison.”

Stiles clutched his chest in mock shock. “What? Why? Oh…oh my god, not that!”

They each kept it together for mere seconds before bursting into laughter roiling laughter, each one setting the other off again, just as it seemed they were nearly finished. 

Ever since Stiles had come clean with her about himself having some level of magic and when added to what she had learned about Jackson, Lydia had a better picture of what was happening around her and even some why. When they had finally calmed down, she was still smiling, looking at him as though her eyes were alighted with their shared laughter. Lydia said, “So, how do we test this?”

\--------------------------------------------

Present…

Lydia suddenly knelt to the ground, dragging Stiles with her. She gripped him tighter, digging her nails into his flesh, gasping under her breath—“Blue turned red… red turned dead… torment…”

Not hearing what Lydia said, but having gotten the clue, Alison crouched down low. She still had an arrow notched for whatever came next. Her eyes did not dare break from in front of them where the sound was coming from, getting ever louder.

Lydia stayed down, but when Stiles looked to her, he saw she was no longer in a trance. In fact, if anything, she mostly just looked confused. 

Stiles and Alison stayed low as the thumping was growing more sporadic while also seeming to get closer. With a sigh, Stiles stood up deciding he could go first and face the corpse-to-be, so Lydia did not have to see another dead body. Just as he moved to take a step forward, Stiles watched as Peter, in shredded, bloody clothing stumbled through the shrubs in front of them. He came to a halt, then collapsed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Up next? Another surprise, feels, and new tags, muhahaha...
> 
> Comments & kudos appreciated <3


	6. Warning & Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red eyes. Dreams. Knowledge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is explicit talk of violent sexual assault in this chapter.

Present…

Stiles rushed to Peter, clearly shocked to see the man.

Lydia followed slowly behind, uncertain of the situation.

Allison was alert, watching for any sign of the coming danger from the woods.

Meanwhile, Stiles tentatively rolled Peter over onto his back, revealing a mangled mess on his front; layers of claw marks, varying in depth just like those that marred his back. However, upon further inspection, Stiles could see it: something was eating Peter alive. 

It wasn’t a creature though; it was magic. It was racing its way up Peter’s left leg and right arm. It looked like something invisible was disintegrating Peter from the inside out at the pace of a starving animal, practically tripping over itself to stuff as much food as possible into its body.

As realization it must be a spell in action hit Stiles, Peter regained consciousness in violent fashion. He clawed down Stiles right arm, hard, nearly ripping into him even deeper, eyes flashing red in crazed fury and confusion as the spell’s effects ravaged through his body, pained convulsions sending his claws ever deeper into flesh.

Lydia had stopped in shock as she saw Peter regain consciousness.

Peter shivered, whether in pain or horror, as he realized what he’d done and to who. However, he had no further time to react as consciousness again meant pain—so much pain that rivaled both the times he had been burned alive combined or perhaps more. It was so intense, he wasn’t sure he could even register the fullness of it any more.

He moaned in pain, not having what it took to fully cry out, taking all it had in him to fight the waves of pain and darkness floating just outside his periphery. Peter seemed to be at the end of his rope, worn through. Stiles mouthed the words to Peter: “How did this happen?”

All Peter got out was “Witches… Ennis…” before his strength gave out and he lost consciousness once more.

Stiles kept quiet through the clawing and did not alert the others to his wounds, knowing Lydia had seen Peter freak, but may not know the damage done; it hadn’t been his fault and bringing up his own minor infliction, under the circumstances, would do no good for anyone. Instead, he spoke gently to both girls, “The witches are in the woods too… possibly other wolves too. Keep on guard.”

Lydia came closer to be at Stiles’ side now that Peter was again unconscious.

At the same time, Allison did a scan of their position, crouching near the others, having seemingly approved the spot amongst a grouping of trees where they were currently as a defensible area.

No sooner than she crouched into position, though, there was something heard rushing supernaturally fast toward them. Stiles held Lydia close while also leaning over Peter, signaling to anyone who approached that he would protect them both.

Allison stood suddenly and let loose an arrow only for Derek to burst through bushes to their right, catching the arrow with a bone vibrating growl as he looked to Allison with his red eyes flashing.

\--------------------------------------------

Months before . . .

Stiles was strung up in the Argent’s basement, not sure quite when he would be rescued. He just needed to hold on—someone was coming. He dangled there, knowing his wrists were bruised and bloody. He felt like he had been here for hours. He knew he had bruises, cuts, a black eye, and bruised, if not broken, ribs. He hurt, but Stiles would tell them nothing. 

At least they had left him to go upstairs. It gave him a break from the torture as he waited for rescue.

Then there was noise and boots on the stairs down to the basement. He expected Gerard Argent, but instead it was just two of his henchmen: the one who looked too intensely at Stiles and the one that liked to torture the wolves.

Stiles looked to check on Erica and Boyd on the electrified chain link fencing. However, when he did, he saw that they were fried—literally. They had been electrified to the point of being little more than charred carcasses fused to the fencing.

He felt his eyes burn with tears for them, that he couldn’t save them, that no one had come in time for them. While he had the tears in his eyes, Stiles said nothing aloud. Mentally though, he prayed the death had been quicker than it looked.

Then he felt a blade slicing down his right side. The cutting was so deep he was sure it was nicking his rib bones. 

Stiles ground his teeth to keep from letting out any noise, he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction, not after what they had done, after what he had just seen.

The henchman cutting him had short buzzed gray hair, his body draped in dark clothes on his tightly muscled bulk. He spoke to the other henchman, “Hmm…. What would it take to make him scream pretty for us?”

While Stiles spit at the man cutting him, the other henchman, also in dark clothes with shaggy brown hair, slapped him hard across the face. “Well, we could dissect him until he gives up the mutts…or fill him up until he does or burst around us—your thoughts?”

“Mmhmm,” the gray-haired henchmen replied, “I do like the idea of getting my dick wet and maybe dissecting him at the same time—one small piece at a time while he flexes around both of us stuffed deep in him, and we’ll—”

Stiles woke with a start, grasping Peter with a white-knuckled grip. He stared at Peter for a moment before recognition came into Stiles’ eyes. At the same moment Stiles understood that Peter woke him, that they were in his room, and that he had been sleeping. Stiles let go of Peter, panick-stricken in the aftermath of his nightmare.

Stiles then sat up and ran his hands through his own sweat-slicked hair, hands shaking as he felt the coolness of the blade slide up his side. No! It wasn’t real. They are not here. He is not there. He is safe. He even had his very own wolf here to keep him safe. Everything is fine, he’s fine, fine. Everything. Fine. Just. Fine.

Stiles then, just to distract his mind, asked, “You know, it didn’t look like you were staying in the train yard with Derek and the rest of his pack. Where do you live?”

\--------------------------------------------

Two weeks later…

Derek paced around the train yard. He still had not found out how Erica and Boyd had shown up back in the train car, but he did know where they had been. On multiple levels he was angry, especially that Stiles had been there with them for part of the torture. He sighed, knowing what he had to do. He walked to the train car, sliding open the door when he got there, telling his betas, “Hey, I’m heading out.”

Erica’s head shot up from her homework. “Are you sure you want to go alone?”

Derek shook his head, saying, “I’ll be fine. Gerard is dead and gone.”

Erica’s eyes met Boyd’s as he looked up before she said, “Were his other hunters killed too, though?”

Derek furrowed his brows as he gave it some thought.

In tight black jeans and a slightly over-sized red t-shirt with her curly hair loose, Erica continued, “Maybe take Issac with you, just in case?”

Derek could not deny that he was glad they were back, being kind enough to ask, rather than demand that he take someone else along, and he felt like things were going to be okay now. Derek had no clue if they would still be there when they got back, but he understood they were still healing, so he still had a chance to be a better alpha. “Yeah, I’m going to see Deaton. Issac, you in?”

Issac sighed and smiled, saying, “Anything to put off math! Count me in.”

\--------------------------------------------

Three days later, morning…

Lydia stretched her arms out over her head briefly to release a tighten arm muscles before scooting closer to the still-sleeping form of Allison. Lydia hooked an arm over her to hold her even closer as she kissed Allison’s shoulder.

As Lydia was thinking about how lucky she was to have her, Allison stirred with a groan before rolling over. 

Allison opened her eyes briefly to steel herself for who she would see. Upon seeing it was Lydia was who was in her bed, Allison smiled. She leaned forward and kissed the tip of Lydia’s nose.

Lydia giggled, asking while trying to hide her insecurity, “You seem surprised I’m here. Expecting someone else?”

Allison sighed softly, “I had a bad dream. I was worried it wasn’t a dream and I’d wake to Scott in my bed.”

Nodding understandingly, Lydia asked, “I take you’ve not spoken to him yet?”

Alison cuddled somehow closer, saying, “I emailed him. I can’t handle facing him. Not only after what I’ve done, but also because I was sure he’d take it badly. He loves with everything he’s got. I don’t want to see the shape that takes when not reciprocated. Plus, that email was almost a week ago now, and he’s been to my house twice and tried to catch me to talk at school a few times.”

She shook her head in frustration, “I have the worst feeling he is never going to stop trying. I think he may belief he can win me back somehow like a carnival prize or something.”

Lydia held her close, “No worries. I’ll protect you from him, whenever you need or want. Plus, I can talk to Stiles and—”

“No!” Allison said suddenly, sitting up.

Lydia sat up too, both girls naked as the day they were born. She asked, “Why? He’s capable of helping.”

Allison shook her head no, saying, “I… I don’t know that he’s forgiven me for what I did. I do _not _want to put him in a bad spot just because I don’t want to deal with Scott.”__

__Lydia leaned forward and kissed Allison softly on the lips, morning breath be damned. As they separated, Lydia said, “Relax, I think Stiles and I could find a way to help you on the Scott front without putting Stiles in a tight spot.”_ _

__\--------------------------------------------_ _

__That night…_ _

__With his Dad working another double, Stiles sat at the dining room table alone. He stared blankly at the table for a few minutes before there was a knock at the door. Stiles went from still to a burst forward to answer the door._ _

__Opening the door, Stiles saw the delivery guy. With a sigh, he paid and took his pizza inside. After setting it on the table, he went and got himself a glass of soda. He sat at the table and ate straight out of the pizza box. When done, he cleaned up after himself._ _

__Stiles then retreated to his room, collapsing forward onto his bed rolling over, and stared at his ceiling. “Well, I guess not only do I not need the wolves because they’re unreliable, but if no big bad is around, they don’t need or even want me…”_ _

__Stiles then shot up suddenly. “You know what? Fuck it.”_ _

__He hopped off his bed and went to his computer. He had been reticent to try at all, but if no one gave a shit and his Dad wouldn’t know, then he was going to figure out this whole magic thing. There had to be a way._ _

__Stiles fired up his computer to start searching. He didn’t look at the obviously questionable, like Wiki, but rather looked into buying or finding old texts that could have the kind of information he sought. He understood Google could only do so much._ _

__He also joined a couple of the less BS-y forums that looked like they had some of the real know-how there to speak to and maybe learn from. He spread himself far and wide to give himself a better chance of finding real information as well as possible future contacts. He knew he had to start somehow._ _

__While hunting through the web and spreading himself out there, Stiles also emailed Lydia. He didn’t trust his words to social media right now, so email it was. Stiles hoped that she and Alison were okay with each other. He was aiming to get a copy of the Argent bestiary._ _

__\--------------------------------------------_ _

__A week and a half before…_ _

__Stiles lay awake, staring at his ceiling. He wore an oversized lacrosse jersey and baggy gray sweatpants as he splayed out on top of his blankets. He debated mentally what the point of even considering trying to sleep really was._ _

__Not really getting too long to go over the lengthy list of reasons he should not sleep was cut short by a tapping at his window. He startled himself right out of bed, knowing that neither Hale was polite enough to knock, let alone wait for him to answer._ _

__A brief hum of, ‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair,’ came to his mind a he moved to the window, not even bothering to turn his bedroom light on. Upon opening his curtains, Stiles face, flanked by Erica and Boyd’s, appeared on the other side of the glass._ _

__It was so out of the norm that Stiles rushed to open his window and let them into his room. He then said, “Are y—hmpf!”_ _

__Stiles was interrupted by both Boyd and Erica hugging him close, if not a little roughly, making him hide a wince. Regardless of the pain it caused him, Stiles hugged them closer to him, grateful for the reminder that they had all got out of Gerard Argent’s basement alive._ _

__Eventually, the hug was broken up. Boyd turned on the light before coming really close to both Stiles and Erica._ _

__They all took a moment to take in the sight of the three of them together again for the first time since their captivity._ _

__Erica spoke first, carefully gripping Stiles’ shoulders and demanding, “Are you okay?”_ _

__Stiles felt a bit of something akin to a glow at someone seeming to worry in any way about him, someone who had half a clue what he had been through. Her hugged her and Boyd close again, knowing they wanted it as badly as he did._ _

__The hug broke up again, Stiles finally got out, “Is something wrong? Gerard’s not back or something is he?”_ _

__While he was proud of his ability to make it sound like he was just worried rather than outright terrified, Stiles still had to work hard to keep his voice calm and his emotions even a bit under control._ _

__Boyd didn’t miss it though, replying before Erica could, “Nothing’s wrong. We just wanted to check; you know.”_ _

__Erica continued, “Yeah, we needed to see for ourselves that you made it.”_ _

__Stiles smiled, genuinely even, saying, “Yeah, I made it out. I’m glad you both made it out too. I was worried, but not sure it would be welcome for me to turn up out of nowhere to check on you guys.”_ _

__Nodding, Erica said, “Yeah, Derek’s pissed about any of us being taken by the geriatric freak. How did Scott take it when he found out what Gerard did to you? We haven’t seen him much since he’s been busy stalking Alison.”_ _

__Deflating, Stiles knew he had to face the music if only ever with them. He took a steadying breath and said, “I have no idea. Don’t think he knows unless Derek passed it on. I’ve hardly seen Scott, and when I do he’s pissy about things with Alison. She’s his focus, as per usual.”_ _

__While both wolves flashed their eyes, it was Erica who growled, “What the fuck? Isn’t he supposed to be your best friend or brother or whatever?”_ _

__Stiles shrugged, not up for a deep dive in how thoroughly he was not a part of any wolves’ club right now. He didn’t have it in him to go over things again and again in his mind, which he knew would include reliving what it took to make him scream as well as how none of the wolves ever came for him._ _

__Erica growled again in frustration, asking, “Well, did your Dad at least make you go the hospital?”_ _

__\--------------------------------------------_ _

__Days before…_ _

__Although he wasn’t so brave as to attempt much of magic, he figured a simple magical attempt of what a layperson would do might be a way to see if Deaton was right about him not having much magic or not. Plus, with his Dad at work and it being daytime, Stiles figured it was as safe a time as any to just see if he had much beyond mountain ash magic._ _

__Stiles took a half step forward and knelt before the map of Beacon Hills laid out upon his floor. He closed his eyes to the world as he began to chant over his grounding map showing origin—_ _

__“Light as a feather,_  
Sharp as a stone,  
Show me the truth  
In the unknown…”_

__Looking suddenly up with his head tilted back his eyes glowed a serene white color as he saw her, gasping wetly, “Mom?”_ _


	7. Lies & Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guidance. Lies. Nightmares. Close calls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rape/non-con stuff is mentioned and shown (not too graphically) in this chapter. 
> 
> Changed up a bit of the formatting, taking into consideration reader comments. Let me know if it is easier to follow like this, please.

While he absently knew his mother could not possibly be in the same room as him, Stiles could see her clearly before him no less. Unlike the empty husk of who she was when she passed away, Claudia was vibrant with her faded mom jeans, three quarter sleeved floral shirt, bare feet, and adoring smile. Her shirt and smile were brightened by the contrast of her pale skin and wavy dark hair. Claudia was clearer to Stiles in this moment than she was in most of his memories.

With over a decade of unspoken words breaking a dam within him causing tears to rush forth, Stiles faltered before reaching out to her. “Is this real?”

Claudia continued to smile at him, like she had before she was sick, before she had become that scared, shrunken woman who thought Stiles was going to kill her. She spoke softly, her voice just like Stiles remembered, “Your spark is matrilineal—all things in threes.”

Stiles nodded dumbly before his face screwed itself up some, saying, “Wait, no, how is this… did I do the spell wrong?”

While Stiles was clearly speaking more to himself than anything, Claudia still smiled all the same, already beginning to slip away from his vision as she just barely got out, “I love you s—” 

Then she was gone.

\--------------------------------------------

A week later…

Stiles stood bravely, deep within the preserve. He wore loose denim jeans, sneakers, a Joker graphic t-shirt, and an open flannel button-down. He stood in an eerily quiet clearing deep inside the preserve that he seemed to stumble onto while looking for a place to practice an aspect of magic.

He raised his hands outward, palms forward, aimed at the decaying tree stump before him, roughly in the center of the clearing. Stiles was not sure why, but his instincts said this was important, this would help somehow. Strangely, it reminded him of his Mom, even if it was just a stump.

After a few unsteady breaths and couple of slightly steadier ones, Stiles closed his eyes. Using information he had found about Pagan rites and practices, Stiles tried to push his own energy as he had been practicing lately. Of all the things he was learning and practicing, guiding his own energies into something without additional tools, words, or ingredients.

Plus, logically, doing so with a decaying stump seemed about as low risk as he could get.

He focused on the spark within himself as he had done for other magical actions he had taken to as of late. Stiles then drew on said spark like a spool of yarn and slowly, mentally wrapped the energy yarn around the stump, connecting them.

Just as the connection was secured between him and the stump, Stiles felt a tug, then blacked out.

\--------------------------------------------

The next day... Stiles was still puzzling out what the hell happened with the tree stump, in part, to avoid dwelling on the heartbreakingly brief moment of seeing his mother. He was sitting in AP Biology in loose denim jeans and an oversized X-men graphic t-shirt, sketching in his notebook to keep himself moving without drawing too much attention to himself. Without really thinking about it, rather than just random doodles, Stiles was drawing an ornate tree branching out from its trunk in sets of three. 

Stiles couldn’t help feeling insecure about the hours he’d lost, what with the whole stump knocking him out in the woods in the first place. Stiles supposed he may have just overdone it with too much magical exertion; however, he did not think that made sense since he somehow touched base with the dead, a.k.a. his Mom. So, what the hell was up with that stump?

The rest of his classes were the same for him in the lead up to lunch. He was even a tad bit late to lunch when he lost time making sure to dodge Harris by talking after class with the teacher. Unlike his new normal of sitting outside with Lydia for lunch, Stiles walked right up to where Boyd, Erica, and Issac were sitting in the cafeteria together.

Stiles plopped down next to Erica.

In a leather mini-skirt, boots, leather jacket, and cleavage focusing tank top—all black—with bright red lipstick, Erica paused for a moment, then draped an arm over his shoulders. She laid her head on Boyd while still talking to Issac as if finally, fully comfortable— “Yeah, you think you have it bad? Harris for chemistry sucks, but try having him for your free period!”

Issac wore his shock in a slightly put-upon haughty way in his efforts to be ‘mature’ about staring at her as if she had grown another head or three the moment she relaxed into Stiles, and not just Boyd. Wearing a white t-shirt, sneakers, and well-fitting jeans, he did not really recover from the shock so much as opened his mouth to ask or maybe mock—Stiles was human after all. 

Boyd watched Issac’s shock, looking incredibly laid back in his dark jeans and a dark gray t-shirt, but he was blatantly observing, holding his thoughts and feelings close to his chest in his silence. However, before Issac could possibly shove his foot in his mouth, Boyd said, “Just leave it, man.”

At a loss, yet not letting it go, Issac went for something else… well, someone else, saying with obvious intent to hurt. “Why are you here, Stiles? Scott wanting something?”

Stiles gave Issac a roll of his eyes at the lame attempt at an insult. “Is that really the only possible thing you could come up with? Also, don’t bother bringing Scott into anything to do with me.”

Issac huffed and followed up with, “What? Trying to join us due to some lover’s spat?”

Stiles shook his head, gesturing vaguely in a dismissive manner toward nothing in particular. “Yeah, don’t bring Derek into it either. Honestly? Exclude yourself too.”

Stiles kissed Erica on the cheek and brushed a hand over Boyd’s shoulder as he got up from the table.

Issac smiled, despite his being dismissed in a sense, seemingly believing he had won the exchange in some way since Stiles appeared to be leaving. 

However, that only lasted until Stiles stopped and did not leave. In all reality, it had nothing to do with Issac. Moving his position allowed Stiles a better view of the area within which he was as it confirmed that he could indeed move as he willed. He stretched out his arms overhead to subtlety scan the area. He really did not like the cafeteria anymore. Too many risks. Too many unknowns. Plus, too many people in general. It was verging on suffocating already. 

Stiles then sat back down where he had been sitting beside Erica, but this time, he scooched in closer. He allowed her to wrap her arm around his waist and Boyd to grip his shoulder to give a light squeeze. At the same time, Stiles leaned into Erica more while one of his hands moved under the table to squeeze Boyd’s leg as if they were all speaking without words to one another.

Not moving away at all, Stiles asked softly, “Were you able to get the text?”

Erica smiled, a quick peak of the sweetheart she could be under the surface, as she responded, “Yeah. It was no big deal, even though I had money on it being a scam. It wasn’t.”

Stiles brought his free hand on press against his heart. “Betting against me? And to think I was all kinds of grateful.”

A one-two beat and then they both burst into laughter that sounded free, almost vulnerable, but they held back. They were in public. Too many risks. Too many unknowns. Plus, too many people. You never knew who would hurt you, hunt you.

After the laughter died down, Stiles asked, “At the normal spot?”

Erica nodded. “Yeah, it’s already there.”

He responded, “Thank you, even if you were betting against me.”

\--------------------------------------------

After school…

In a white t-shirt, denim jeans, and a dark coat with sneakers on, Scott walked into the local veterinary clinic wherein Deaton, the local not-so-secret Druid-come-veterinarian, worked. He was in and past the front desk. Scott headed into the back room on the left where the animals were to check on how many animals were in: one cat and two incredibly large dogs. Seeing them, he assumed they must be part husky due to size and coloring, even if they seemed to have too short of hair for that. 

Shrugging it off, he moved to head into the back room on the right to see what Deaton was up to and talk a bit. 

Deaton was in the second back room that was the animal examination and treatment room. Wearing brown slacks, a white button-down shirt, and his normal business-style shoes, he was sedating a large husky-mix dog like the others. He seemed to be very quietly speaking to the dog as it lost consciousness.

Scratching the back of his head while wondering if he should cut his mop of hair shorter, Scott asked, “Why are you talking to the dog while sedating it?” 

Deaton chuckled at Scott’s words. He then, with a smile, said, “Oh, it calms the animal when you use a calming tone of voice and speak to them. Now, what brings you here? It is your day off.”

Scott chuckled, “Yeah, uh, I had some questions.”

With a nod, Deaton motioned for Scott to get on with it while he started moving and prepping things for surgery. 

“I was wondering if you were still thinking my pack was too small. I mean, Theo thinks we’re a good size, just the two of us, but I just…I worry. Derek’s pack is bigger and definitely crazier, what with Peter being back.”

Deaton nodded again, strangely taking his time gathering surgical tools in the dog’s eye line. He then said, “Well, it is normal to need guidance as you are a True Alpha. They are very rare. Honestly? No, I do not think your pack is big enough.”

Scott nodded, asking, “Okay, well, I could always bite Stiles… and Allison… and more lacrosse players.”

“NO!” Deaton suddenly said, his eyes staring down Scott for a moment before calming. “No. They have sided with darkness, remember? It is very important that you are not tainted by others who could tempt you down the wrong path. Trust me, they’re safer not being involved. Being human, after all, shrinks their world view too much anyways. This is your path, not theirs.”

\--------------------------------------------

That night…

Stiles was strung up, his wrists handcuffed and attached to a chain holding him stretched up on his tip toes in Gerard’s basement. He looked to check on Erica and Boyd, finding nothing but ash where he remembered them being.

He had no time for tears or mourning though, because when he looked away, he felt something shoved deep inside him with one of the henchmen pressed against his back. Then more was shoved into him, the other henchman at his front. He opened his mouth to scream—

Suddenly Peter was there with his soft shirts and sleep-mussed hair, shaking him awake roughly.

In his sweatpants and the day’s shirt, Stiles squeaked and ripped himself free of Peter as best he could. He then rushed into his adjoining bathroom and threw up what felt like everything he had ever eaten in his whole life. He was trembling uncontrollably but didn’t dare release his grip of the toilet’s edge, not sure he was done throwing up. 

Peter gave him distance in his white, long-sleeve V-neck shirt, black jeans, and dark socks. He did finally come close to the bathroom door while being careful to not block the exit. He said nothing. He was simply there with a controlled, almost muted expression on his face.

After throwing up one more time and a bit of dry heaving, Stiles pulled himself up and to the sink. He rinsed out his mouth twice to be sure all the remaining vomit and bile was washed from his mouth.

Stiles then slowly, in his hole-filled gray sweatpants and over-sized t-shirt, made his way back to his bed. All the time, he carefully gave Peter space and did not at all touch him. Once Stiles was back on his bed, he asked softly, “Can I ask for something?”

Peter hesitated for a moment, but said, “Yes.”

After a slow breath to ease his own nerves and shaky hands, Stiles asked, “Could you shift? However much you’re okay with…”

Peter, recognizing the implication of ‘don’t be human,’ shifted into his partial wolf form, sideburns and all.

Stiles released a sigh of relief at Peter looking different, not fully human. He then curled back up in his bed under the covers still shaky but much calmer. He then looked expectantly to Peter.

Getting the hint, Peter chuckled a moment as he climbed into the bed with Stiles. Peter stayed atop the blankets but carefully pulled Stiles into being the little spoon.

Stiles laid a hand over Peter’s, whispering, “Thank you.”

\--------------------------------------------

Two days later…

Lydia was sprawled out on Stiles’ bed in a light yellow and sky-blue dress with no shoes on, reading the newspaper as she said aloud, “Well, so far they are still pegging the bodies as animal attacks. I guess we should be grateful for the little miracles.”

Stiles was adding individual pictures of the eight victims so far to his ‘board of information.’ He had seemed a bit paranoid the last few days, clearly not wanting anyone not involved to be seeing what they were up to, which encouraged Lydia’s attempt to focus on the paper. 

For better or worse, Stiles’ Dad seemed to be busy dealing with the bodies found in town. While his Dad being busy was helpful to them, Stiles was stuck pulling double duty due to having to balance their investigation with taking care of his Dad.

Just then, there was a loud trilling, beeping sound. As Lydia set down the paper, Stiles set aside what he had in his hands leaving the room. It took a few minutes, but Stiles returned with a basket full of clothes. In his room, he dumped out the laundry on top of the rest that was amassing next to Lydia on his bed. He set the basket aside and began to fold laundry while looking at the pictures and other documents he’d posted of his investigation on his poster-sized foam boards already.

Lydia sighed setting aside the paper as she grabbed a pair of scissors from Stiles’ desk. She sat cross-legged on the bed and started to cut pieces out from the newspaper to put on the investigation board. She took those pieces, once they were all cut out, and attached them to the boards. Next, she put the rest of the stuff Stiles hadn’t gotten to onto the boards as well.

When done, she returned to sitting on Stiles’ bed. Once again sitting cross-legged, Lydia began to fold the laundry with Stiles, saying, “I feel like we are missing something huge.”

Nodding, Stiles said, “Agreed. Okay, so we know they’re killing people, placing the bodies purposefully, even if the locations seem innocuous, and that there definitely is a magical component…yeah, I feel we’re missing something too.”

Then, Stiles suddenly stood up, silent in every movement, while eerily graceful. He dropped the shirt he had been folding along the way to his desk.

Lydia asked, “What are you doing?”

Stiles did not answer. Instead, he grabbed a piece of paper from his desk and a pen.

Lydia dropped what she was folding to rush to Stiles’ side. She came around to look him in the eyes, but found he was focused on writing something down, ignoring her like she was not there. She even waved a hand in front of him, but was still ignored. It was then she noticed his eyes: his pupils were blown wide as he seemed to almost be looking through what he was doing.

He then set the pen down and returned to what he had been doing, folding. He the looked to her, whatever had happened seemed to be cleared itself from his mind. Suddenly, with great surprise, he said, “Whoa, how’d you get over there so fast?”

Lydia looked to him like this would be hilarious if only it was funny, worried about whatever just happened. She picked up the piece of paper Stiles had written on, showing it to him as she asked Stiles about what he wrote, “What is the Thrice Cursed?”

\--------------------------------------------  
The next morning…

Allison lay naked in her bed, holding close her equally naked best friend, stroking her long red tresses all the down her back then up again. 

Lydia on the other, while also awake, had yet to open her eyes. She loved these quiet moments that were just theirs. Slowly, she began to stroke lazy circles over Allison’s hip.

With a smile in her words, Allison said, “Hmm… good morning.”

Lydia smiled herself, saying, “Morning to you too, Ally.”

“Want me to make you some breakfast?”

“Nah… I figure we could grab some on our way to Stiles’.”

With a teasing pinch to her bed partner’s right nipple, Allison questioned, “And why are we heading there this morning?”

After an aroused whimper at the pinch, Lydia managed to retain some seriousness. “Because if you want to help, to be let in on this, I got to take you to where we have our stuff. Plus, with your willingness to share what you have in the Argent Bestiaries with us, it only seems fair you know why we are asking in a less omission-heavy way.”

Pinching Lydia’s left nipple, Ally said. “Too bad we’re busy…”

Lydia whimpered again. She then licked Allison’s already erect right nipple, responding, “Hmm… we’re not that busy. We have a little time.”

The moment those words were out of her mouth, Lydia slid up Allison’s soft form to kiss with intent.

\--------------------------------------------

Across town…

Stiles lay in his bed, cuddled up to Peter as the big spoon. As he slowly woke, Stiles gently stroked his fingers up and down Peter’s chest with the comfort that came from having Peter in his bed more nights than not anymore. He had no clue how long he had been doing it before Peter began making noise.

Peter growled in his sleep, his fangs dropping and claws out. The claws had so far only pricked the bed, but Peter was getting tenser and growling in a more subvocal tone.

Not leaving the bed, Stiles slowly withdrew himself from spooning Peter. Stiles moved to lay facing Peter, carefully folding his hands with Peter’s while speaking firmly, not loudly: “Peter, you are safe. You are not alone. You are here and you are not by yourself.”

With their hands still together, Stiles leaned in to nuzzle Peter much as a wolf might nuzzle a loved one. He just kept speaking to tell Peter he was okay and not alone. Stiles also kept nuzzling Peter and doing his best to imitate what a wolf would do to comfort another. At the same time, Stiles made a mental note to research the topic of wolf comforting more for possible future events.

Peter came to with his claws still out, but his fangs no longer dropped. He was tense at first, but relaxed at least a little once he seemed to recognize where he was. He slowly opened his eyes to see Stiles snuggled right up to him. To that, Peter chuckled, saying, “Hmmm… not really too scared of me?”

Stiles shrugged and got up. 

Peter moved to grab his cellphone off the nightstand, checking the time: 5:28am. While he didn’t say anything, Peter perked his brow when he realized Stiles was not going back to sleep.

Stiles returned from his bathroom in oversized jeans and a maroon Venom graphic t-shirt. He pulled on some socks and a pair ofsneakers from his floor, then sat on his bed. Once his shoes were on, he stood, gathering his cell phone, keys, and backpack. Next, Stiles asked, “Want some breakfast?”

Peter rose to his own feet after a good listen to the house. Knowing the Sheriff was not home, Peter smirked. “Sure.”

\--------------------------------------------

Present…

Stiles spared a peek up at the sound of the greenery at their side being burst through in time to see Derek catch the arrow Allison released at whatever lay in front of them.

Half a second later, Issac burst through the bushes, narrowly avoiding Allison’s deadly shot.

Stiles’ brain caught up, realizing who was growling and let out a sigh of relief, his brain somehow seizing the idea that it was related to the events surrounding Peter. Feeling the blood running down his arm from where Peter had clawed him in his magic-plague-induced fever, Stiles whispered, “Shhh…get down.”

Derek was about to retort, still having his red eyes flashing at Allison. However, it was then he caught the scent of blood and pain. His eyes then shot to the direction where the strongest blood scent was coming from. He seemed to see the magic rapidly eroding sections of Peter.

Letting loose a low growl at Allison, Derek got down next to Peter, opposite Stiles.

Lydia rolled her eyes at the growling Alpha, whispering, “Hey, you ran into us—how were we to know that you weren’t a threat.”

She kept to herself what she really wanted to do and say, for now, daring to growl at Allison.

Knowing about Alison and Lydia’s relationship, Stiles squeezed Lydia thigh gently to show support. He then, not really caring one way or the other why they were here, whispered, “Chill. She’s not hunting. She’s protecting us from the witches.”

Derek raised a brow at Stiles as if challenging the teenager.

Stiles stared Derek down, saying, “Keep your eyebrows to yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Kudos & comments deeply appreciated*


	8. Comfort & Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Touch. Scent. Ley lines. Gifts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning implied non-con. Stronger sense of time, I hope.

Gerard’s basement the night Stiles was taken . . .

In his jeans and sneakers, Stiles was strung up in the Argent’s basement. So far he had managed to stay strong, but he had to admit to himself that whoever would be rescuing him was running out of time. Gerard was by no means a patient man, based upon the damage already done to Stiles’ body, let alone what he had witnessed happening to Erica and Boyd.

Hearing the steps of people coming downstairs once more, Stiles steeled himself as best he could—someone was coming. He knew he didn’t look like much of a threat on a good day, let alone right now dangling with his skinny chest bare, knowing his wrists were bruised and bloody. He felt like he had been here for hours. He knew he had bruises, cuts, a black eye, and bruised, if not broken, ribs. He hurt, but Stiles knew he could tell them nothing. No matter how bad any of this was, if he told them anything, it would be so much worse for the others.

The hunters heading down the stairs seemed to be taking their sweet time, letting him tense with fear and anticipation of whatever would come next. The noise of their boots was foreboding, but not to the level Stiles suspected they may imagine it to be. While he expected Gerard, the two different henchmen-come-hunters by no means were a soothing sight for his sore eyes. 

One of them looked so intensely at Stiles while licking his lips that he felt a whole-body shiver run through him as well as some tensing as he worked to not groan at the pain that caused. The other hunter was no better, pleasure nearly palpable all while torturing the wolves.

Thinking of the wolves, Stiles turned his head briefly to spare them a glance. Both were unconscious on the chain link fencing they were strapped to that was electrified by jumper cables and a car battery. Although he felt a small slice of envy at their not being conscious for whatever came next, Stiles turned back toward the hunters who were much closer now with a false sense of strength. “What? Missed me?”

The hunter with short buzzed gray hair, his body draped in dark clothes on his tightly muscled body, punched him in the face again for smarting off to them.

Stiles ground his teeth to keep from letting out any noise, he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. Even if he was not the strongest of his friends, let alone the potentially exponential supernatural world, Stiles could stand by his sarcasm and being a smartass. He was about 160 pounds of weak human, so he could at least keep the hunters busy to buy himself and the others time for them all to be rescued.

The henchman who had punched him selected a surgical scalpel off of the table of “tools” against the basement wall to Stiles’ left. The hunter then dragged the scalpel down the right side of Stiles’ ribcage, just deep enough to cause tears to leak out of Stiles’ eyes. He then spoke to the other henchman, “Hmm…what would it take to make him scream ever so prettily, just for us?”

Stiles was literally biting his tongue at the scalpel cutting down his ribcage felt so deep he was sure it had to be nicking his rib bones. He switched from biting his tongue to grinding his teeth even as his tears kept falling. With whatever spite he had in himself, Stiles spit at the hunter cutting him.

The other hunter moved closer to him, moving to be behind their captive. He suddenly pulled Stiles into him, rubbing his hard manhood against Stiles’ rear, saying, “WE could fuck him. Maybe keep cutting too…see if he can scream so loud he cums on both of us.”

Stiles could not help the weak whimper that escaped him at that in his sheer horror at the thought.

The gray-haired henchman chuckled, saying, “Hmmm… I think he likes that idea, Henry. Take his pants off.”

At those words, Henry with his dark clothes and shaggy brown hair began to unfasten Stiles’ pants.

Honestly, not believing he could survive that, survive that invasion, Stiles kicked out and fought like he had never fought before. He kicked at both men, even catching Henry in the crotch with a hard shin to his goods.

Henry growled in pain, “Fuck, you little shit!”

The gray-haired hunter grabbed onto Stiles’ pants to rip them down, but Stiles wasn’t done fighting. He kicked out at the man, wrenching his own body in painful chaos to fight off their efforts to strip him. No matter that his pants were ripped nor anything else the men did, Stiles fought. He actively screamed as well for help from literally anyone. He desperately did not want to be raped.

Henry, recovering and still behind Stiles, ground out, “Come on you little shit, what? Want to save yourself for those mutts to fill you with fucking pups?!”

With those words, Henry punched Stiles hard in the side. 

While he was losing some of his strength, Stiles refused to stop screaming and fighting. He with a wide swing caught the gray-haired man with a good kick to the shin.

Henry spat at Stiles while the gray-haired man punched Stiles in the head hard enough for the boy to see stars.

Henry said, “Fuck it—too much work!”

The gray-haired hunter agreed, “Might as well just leave him for dead or something.”

Nodding, the hunter with gray hair let Stiles loose to collapse to the ground. “Where do you think we should dump him?”

Henry shrugged. “Back at the lacrosse field. No one’ll care.”

\--------------------------------------------

A month after the showdown with Gerard…

Stiles sat in his backyard. He wore faded too-big denim jeans and a white t-shirt. Sitting with crossed legs, bare feet, and his eyes shut, Stiles made no sound but that of his heartbeat. 

Far quieter, Peter leapt from up in the tree—a maple—down to near Stiles. Wearing a maroon V-neck t-shirt, snug black jeans, and his normal leather shoes, Peter was perfectly quiet to human ears. He moved closer to Stiles and leaned over Stiles as if to attack without a sound. 

Just as Peter came to within arm’s reach, Stiles shot out his hand to grab Peter by the ankle. He then opened his eyes as he looked up at Peter with a shit-eating grin. “Gotcha.”

Peter rolled his eyes at the lithe boy.

Stiles released his firm hold on Peter as he stood up. Still grinning, he turned more fully to Peter without a word.

Peter looked Stiles up and down.

Before Peter could do much, Stiles spoke, “What are thinking about so hard?

Stiles had researched how to effectively calm a wolf and, in the process, he learned more about wolves overall. It was striking how like a wild wolf Peter was, right down to the edge of unpredictability. He was not one hundred percent sure that Peter really was thinking too hard. It was a mix of repeated exposure to Peter and his instincts. 

Peter perked a brow at Stiles’ words while crossing his arms.

In Peter’s movements, Stiles knew he had guessed right. He did not like Peter being defensive though. The man slept cuddling Stiles more nights than not. He knew it mattered that Peter was willing to be so vulnerable as to sleep around another person at all.

He then reached out to gently touch Peter’s right wrist, running his hand up from the wrist up to the shoulder that he gave a gentle squeeze before removing his arm.

Not letting Stiles’ hand move from his shoulder, Peter’s arm shot up for his hand to grip Stiles’ wrist. Peter’s eyes were staring into Stiles’ mercilessly, asking, “Why?”

Stiles did not break eye contact. Instead, he said, “Because you stuck around, and I know you won’t hurt me.”

Still watching the boy for a moment, Peter then asked, “May I scent you?”

Serious but smiling, Stiles nodded.

Peter released his grip on Stiles’ wrist in favor of leaning closer toward the neck to take an obscenely deep breath. He held it for a moment, letting the scent soak into him a bit. 

Stiles took the moment to lean into Peter’s attention, nuzzling his shoulder softly as he gave Peter more room to smell at his neck.

Peter rumbled softly, almost like a wolf-purr as he stepped forward, fully in Stiles’ personal space. Leaning further into Stiles, Peter nuzzled at his neck, inhaling his spicy honeyed clove scent that sizzled with a faint hint of ozone. 

Stiles ran his fingertips up and down Peter’s arms, knowing that Peter would smell who had slept with him the previous night: Erica and Boyd. While it was just outright sleeping, the comfort of not being alone at night was well worth sharing a twin bed amongst three people.

Peter did not mention any scents one way or the other. He instead focused on running his nose down Stiles’ neck on one side to transition fluidly to running face and stumble up the other side of the boy’s neck.

The entire time, Stiles kept himself loose and easily moved with Peter’s movements. While they did not tend to do these things in the light of day, some level of scenting had been going on for a while. Stiles murmured softly into Peter’s other shoulder, “Comfy.”

Peter leaned back a moment, raising a brow briefly before going back to nuzzling and scenting Stiles.

A few more moments passed before Peter paused, saying, “Your dad’s home. He doesn’t sound too pleased.”

Stiles groaned, stepping away from the wolf. He scratched the back of his head briefly, not sure what to say.

Peter just shrugged as he stepped closer again and gave Stiles’ shoulder a gentle squeeze. He did not say anything as no words seemed needed. 

Stiles nodded at the words they never did say before heading back inside his house. He did not look back—he knew Peter was likely already long gone. He made a point of making sure to make noise so as not to startle his Dad.

Sheriff Stilinski was slapping things in his clearly rushed and frustrated efforts to quickly grab something. He was in a significantly less than fresh police uniform with pit stains and all. He grumbled out, “Hi son. Just grabbing a few things. Figure a clothing change was a must at the least.”

Stiles nodded knowingly, adding, “Want me to bring you anything when I’m done with homework?”

Noah just shook his head no, saying, “Don’t worry about it.”

Putting his hands on his hips, Stiles said, “Yeah, and I’m sure your body will love the heart attack from the grease of all that takeout you keep subjecting it to.”

The Sheriff shook his head as he grabbed a package of pop tarts. “Don’t start with me. Two more people have been attacked, including a kid. My heart is the least of my worries.”

Stiles moved to sit at their diningroom table. “Wow. How old?” 

Noah sighed, “Too young. The answer, as always, is too young.”

He then checked his watch. Shaking his head at himself, the Sheriff went up the stairs two at a time.

Stiles didn’t get up. He just sat in the knowledge that more people were getting hurt. 

Rushing down from upstairs, Noah returned in a fresh shirt, smelling a little too intensely of Febreze. He grabbed the bag he had apparently been throwing all his stuff in since before Stiles came inside. He moved to leave, but at the door, he said, “I’m on another double. Tara’s sick and these animal attacks have us all on high alert.”

\--------------------------------------------

Across town…

The roads were cracked pavement and empty in the industrial area at the edge of town. The buildings were one story while somehow maintaining a sense of foreboding intimidation. 

Air humming with the sounds of machinery running in the buildings that were not abandoned, Scott stood with a frown and his arms crossed in a mostly empty building long abandoned. Scott, in addition to his sneakers was wearing low-price stylish jeans and a medium blue polo shirt. He watched Adrian.

The newer wolf, Adrian, was practicing how to move in his shifted, sideburns form.

Jackson was off to the side. His current focus was flirting with Malia. He kept talking about his status on the high school lacrosse team, his inherent greatness through money, and his looks.

She paid him no mind; instead, Malia was watching Scott. In plain jeans and gray t-shirt, Malia was leaning against the warehouse wall. She then straightened to head to Scott, dismissing Jackson absently with a flick of her wrist. Once by Scott’s side, she asked, “What’s wrong?”

Jackson growled at being dismissed, punching a dent into the wall while his eyes flashed their supernatural blue. 

Scott looked to Malia with his expression lightening up some. Running a hand through his hair, he responded, “Just, well, I feel anxious. Nothing has gone wrong. I don’t know. Maybe Stiles and Derek really were the problem. ‘Cause since I stopped spending my time on their drama, there has been way less murders and the supernatural. I guess Deaton was right. Well, not that I’m shocked. The man tends to steer me right. Guess I just didn’t want to believe that about Stiles. Then again, he really hasn’t been the same since Gerard was dealt with. Hmm…I don’t know—"

Just then, Theo loudly let himself into the warehouse wearing a huge grin in addition to his black jacket, olive shirt, jeans, and sneakers.

Then Scott’s phone went off with a text. After reading it, he said, “Hey, Deaton says he has something he wants to talk to all of us about.”

\--------------------------------------------

A couple of days later, evening…

In dark jeans, t-shirt, and dark socks, while shifted to his partial-wolf form, Boyd was curled around Erica sleeping. He was the big spoon, holding her close while stroking her side.

Erica wore denim jeans, a white t-shirt, and her cropped leather jacket. She was also partially shifted in Boyd’s arms. Additionally, she was curled around Stiles’ side. Erica did not pet or stroke him at all. She merely held as though she feared him slipping away.

Stiles was wearing old gray sweatpants and an over-sized Captain America graphic t-shirt. Laying on his back on his bed, Stiles was asleep until he heard his bedroom window. He did not tense right away, due to his having a clue who it was, looking that direction for a specific Hale wolf. 

Peter slid in through the window in dark pants and V-neck shirt, whose colors were not obvious to Stiles. The wolf turned toward Stiles on the bed. He then took a step back at seeing that Stiles was not alone.

Before Peter had even a chance to leave, Stiles held out his hand to the wolf, whispering, “It’s okay.”

Peter stepped forward to take Stiles’ hand.

Stiles happily held Peter’s hand as he rolled onto his side to face Erica, cuddling up closer to her to make room on his other side for Peter. He then felt Peter slide onto the bed, laying beside him. Stiles pulled gently on Peter’s hand to be wrapped around him, mimicking the couple beside them.

Even though it was tight for them all to fit on his twin bed and there was the twinge of fear of them all falling swiftly from the bed nagging the back of his mind, Stiles couldn’t help but feel so incredibly comfortable as the hand he held performed a partial-shift. Stiles was being warmed by three wolves who he knew, he just knew would protect him from anything and would notice if he was suddenly gone. That level of safety was a high he had not had since long before he was even aware of the supernatural. 

\--------------------------------------------

Two and a half weeks later…

Stiles sat in the school library during his lunch break with Lydia, Allison, and Boyd. Stiles was in loose denim jeans, a large army green t-shirt, and dark sneakers. He had stacks of papers that he and the girls were going through while he also read from the book that Erica and Boyd had picked up for him.

Boyd, in his fitted, dark jeans and red T-shirt, was not there to look through the printout the other three had brought to school. Instead, he was there because Stiles had asked him to be, in an effort to discourage unwanted company. As a result, while the others did research, Boyd played games on his phone to keep himself busy.

Lydia, ever flawless, was in a lemon yellow skirt and a frilly blue blouse. Her yellow heels tapped with her frustration on the floor. Her red tresses loosely curled and free flowing as she occasionally flipped her hair with impatience. She was looking through the copies of research from Stiles’ internet sources on witchcraft and specifically curses. She even spoke quietly to them all after a giggle, “Well, it seems one can curse someone to never feel sexual pleasure again.”

There was a brief laugh from Allison, but a look of horror at even the idea of missing out on sexual pleasure from Boyd. Stiles did not tense, having practiced that much, but carefully focused on his own reading from the text Erica and Boyd had picked up for him on witchcraft and comparing it to one of the printouts.

They were on day seven of having skipped lunch in favor of researching in the library what Stiles had written down: Thrice Cursed. While Lydia, Stiles, and Allison were main stays of the work, Erica and Boyd were alternating protective duties so one of them was always with Issac as to not abandon him to flirting girls.

Allison wore fitted, denim jeans and a light brown and pink blouse, clearly picking up some fashion advice from Lydia while she continued to lie low. Her hair was twisted up into a messy bun held together with a number two pencil. She read slower than some but had the familiarity with the printout she brought of the Argent Bestiary to help her efforts.

Stiles then said, “Well, I think I might have found Twice Cursed. But it’s not what we were thinking. It’s name is a red herring. It’s some kind of ritual, I think. Lydia? Can you read this part in Latin?”

He handed the book to Lydia as he spoke.

She accepted the text, placing it on top of some of the print outs she was looking through to read it. She then looked to Stiles. She then got into her messenger bag, pulling out a pen and a notebook once she had a hold of them. She opened the notebook and set it beside the book, holding the pen in her hand as she slowly worked to translate the section of writing.

While she worked on the translation, Stiles moved his attention to looking through the printout he had that was similar. He used the pen he already had in his hand to take notes on the printout from what he understood of what was in the book.

Allison then asked, out of the blue, “Hey, you ever heard of a Nemeton?”

Stiles perked a brow as he looked to her, trying to ignore how that rang true through him somehow, saying, “Not sure. What is it?”

She responded, “Well, generally I think it’s connected to Celtic Religions as a place of power, but more specifically there is an entry for one in the bestiary. There are even some handwritten notes that I think are from Grandpa. Maybe he thought we had one?”

Stiles tensed at the mention of Allison’s grandfather, knowing it was her on the downlow way of referring to Gerard in public spaces. It had been agreed on in her meet up with Erica and Boyd after she’d apologized to them and Stiles. After a slow deep breath, Stiles asked, “You think he was right?”

Allison shrugged. “Honestly? I’m not sure. He has some notes written on here about ley lines, specifically nature’s ley lines. His notes all talk about connections to previous events of nature, like fires and stuff. I’m guessing he at least thought there was a chance.”

Lydia then added on, “Well, it would make sense. Ley lines are considered by some to map a sense of amassing people, perhaps even power. Maybe if we had one around here it would make more of the crazy supernatural stuff make more sense. Maybe, if that were the case, it all could be drawn here along the ley lines to some form of Nemeton.”

Stiles asked, “Could it be a tree? Could the Nemeton be a tree?”

Perking her brow at the specificity, Allison responded, “Sure. A Nemeton just has to be a well of power and, based on Grandpa’s notes, connected in some way to the convergence of ley lines. Why?”

Just as Stiles was about to ask another question about a Nemeton, the unwanted company the researchers were concerned about arrived at Allison’s side: Scott.

This time, though, Scott was not alone; at his side was Theo.

Scott pulled up a spare chair and sat right next to Allison uninvited, saying, “Ah, here you are. I was wondering where you were hiding. Did you get the things I left with your Dad?”

A shiver visibly ran down Allison’s whole form. She scooted closer to Lydia as best she could.

Stiles barely restrained a growl, influence from the wolves rubbing off on him, though Theo didn’t share the same restraint. Unlike Allison’s instinct to move closer to the group and the safety it could provide, Stiles just stared at Scott, intentionally ignoring Theo’s clear attempt to spark problems. Stiles said, “Hello Scott, long time no see…”

At Stiles’ words, Scott finally seemed to notice the others there with Allison. Bypassing looking at Stiles, Scott growled at Boyd, who he clearly saw as the only real threat. Scott kept growling at Boyd, saying, “Why the hell are you here? Picking on the defenseless humans after running away from your Alpha? Or are you just trying to get on my good side so I’ll take you into my new pack?”

Stiles did growl at that, standing up suddenly.

Before Stiles could speak or act further, Boyd rolled his eyes as he looked at Scott, saying, “What, an Alpha-less pack?”

Scott growled deeper, standing as if to intimidate as he flashed his red eyes.

Stiles paused at that unexpected update, asking, “How?”

Scott turned to Stiles then with a lopsided puppy-like grin—“By sheer will, man! I am a True Alpha! Can you believe that? It’s awesome.”

Stiles sighed, saying, “Maybe in public is not where you should announce that?”

Scott, scolded, growled yet again at Stiles before looking back to Boyd, saying, “Don’t you dare bite any of them or I’ll kill you. They are defenseless humans. It would be wrong.”

Boyd laughed in Scott’s face, but with Stiles subtly shaking his head, Boyd did not point out how wrong it was to think the smartest people they knew were weak.

Forgetting he had not gotten an answer from Allison, Scott said, “Well, since team asshole is here, we’ll just have to talk later, right Allison?”

Not waiting for an answer, Scott left them alone after motioning for Theo to follow.

Theo, before leaving, stood and leaned into Stiles’ ear to purr a whispered “Hmmm… potential…”

Stiles fought to keep his composure up to and including after the duo-dummies had fled and deflated sitting down again. He then said, “I think we are going to have to stop meeting here. Any suggestions on where to take our researching gig next for during school?”

Boyd sat back down.

Lydia shrugged, beginning to pack up, saying, “Cool if I take this with me to work on after school?”

He nodded as he ran a hand along Boyd’s shoulders, saying, “Thank you. That could’ve gotten really out of hand if you weren’t here.”

Noticing how tight to Lydia Allison remained, he asked, “Are you okay? We can stop researching at school. I don’t want to put you at risk with Scott.”

Already holding Lydia’s hand while they both packed things up respectively with their available hands, Allison nodded, saying, “Can’t avoid him forever. Any clue how he got red eyes?”

Boyd shook his head regardless of whether the question was directed at him or not, saying, “Never heard of any kind of True Alpha nonsense. I’ll ask Derek.”

Stiles nodded, knowing Boyd would pass along the answer, asking with a smirk, “Hey, do we want to all go join Issac and Erica?”

\--------------------------------------------

After school…

Stiles drove out to the preserve. Leaving most of his things but his keys and phone, Stiles walked into the preserve to go back to where he had been when he blacked out near that stump.

It took over a half hour of walking through the preserve, dodging towering trees and rocky outcrops, even surprising prickly shrubs that caught on his clothes with nearly every step, or at least that’s what it felt like. Even though it was late afternoon and the sun was still high, under the canopy of so many trees, it looked much later and shadier. Stiles finally came out of the shaded woods of the preserve and into the open, grassy semi-circle opening with an off-center tree trunk that hinted at it having been a very large tree in its heyday.

Stiles approached the tree stump with a bit more caution than the last time he was here. Once within a foot or two, he circled the stump. He was not at all sure, but after what Allison had brought up at lunch, he was suspicious of the tree stump being something magical. 

He finally spoke aloud, “Okay, so…if I were a magical something, like a Nemeton, there would be hints, right? There would be clues?”

Staring at the stump for a moment or so more, it dawned on him, “Ley lines!”

He sat on the ground close to but not touching the stump. He got on his phone, grateful to have reception to use the internet. He was even bouncing off of someone else’s WIFI. First, he looked up Nemeton. Looking through some of the first results, he clicked onto Wiki. He knew it was not going to have necessarily totally accurate information, but would give him a better sense of what might and might not qualify.

He read through everything he could on the Wiki entry, finding that the stump was not disqualified from being one. Next, he looked up ley lines. The initial results were what he was not looking for. Then the Google suggestion included magic. He changed his search to both that spelling and adding the word magic, getting Ley Lines Magic. That had some real results. 

He ended up reading through several sites before switching to the places wherein he could contact his resources that knew the truth about the supernatural. 

A few hours into his scouring the web for information about Ley Lines and Nemeton later, Stiles decided to call it. He put his phone back in his pocket and stood up. He looked around, surprised to find it dark. Shaking his head at himself, Stiles said, “Too bad you can’t just tell me and show me everything I need to know.”

Shrugging his shoulders at the lack of response he got and expected, he then began to weave and wander his way through the preserve and back to his vehicle. He got in and immediately headed home. 

Later that night, Stiles retired to his bedroom to change into worn, thin gray sweats and a stretched out white t-shirt. Sitting at his computer, it suddenly dawned on him—he went into the preserve and found the random spot from before and then back out without ever getting lost or needing to call for help. 

Then his bedroom window opened. 

Stiles turned toward his window just in time to see Peter closing his window back up.

Peter then kicked off his shoes and shifted to his partial-wolf form.

Stiles sighed. With a shrug, he got up to turn off the lights and climb into bed with Peter. What could he say? He was tired.

As they had already given up any game of pretending otherwise; they liked sleeping together. Stiles scooted close to Peter, pulling Peter’s arm over him so that they were spooning. He then asked, “What’s a True Alpha?”

\--------------------------------------------

Two days later…

Allison was standing in her fluffy blue pajama pants and a loose white tank top with her dad in their front room. Chris was in combat boots, jeans, a white t-shirt, and an olive green button down with his arms cross over his chest. They were both looking at the two teddy bears attached by a stuffed red heart.

Chris spoke first, “And you’ve told him it’s over?”

Allison nodded dutifully. She was at a loss for words. This was not the first time Scott had left a ‘love-gift’ with a note. She knew it was likely not the last either. She swallowed hard, aware she wouldn’t read the note. She had long since stopped reading them. She knew Scott had to be delusional at this point for him to keep stalking and gifting her like this repeatedly.

Popping his neck with age and dropping his arms, he asked, “Want me to do the same with these as the others?”

Allison nodded again. She still had no words, but the way her Dad was clenching and unclenching his fists, she worried her Dad was going to do something that would get him hurt or worse. She knew this was serious and that Scott was not just some random stalker, or even a random human: he was a werewolf. She knew her dad was all about how dangerous that was even before the stalking.

Chris rolled his shoulders and moved to leave, not bringing the bears with him. 

Before he could get out the door, Allison asked with worry, “What are you gonna do, Dad?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments & kudos deeply appreciated <3


	9. Magic & Pack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spark. Banshee. Magic. Sacrifices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: implied/explicit gore and implied violence.

Present… 

Swallowing a fat lump of fear at this many people being so close to him, Stiles signaled for Issac to move closer, regardless of if he trusted the teen or not. He had no need for them all to be so spread out. 

Not watching if Issac came closer or not to prevent a possible flinch, Stiles looked to Peter’s wounds finding that, not only was it getting worse, but it was doing so faster and faster the longer it went on. A good chunk of the man was being eaten away through disintegration as they all just waited around.

As he let go of Lydia and focused fully on Peter rather than any of the others, Stiles grunted aloud his thoughts, “Shit. Fuck. Okay…okay…”

He kept repeating okay over and over, but looked around himself at who was here, where, and with what. Stiles sighed, mapping this in his mind with everything he had been learning and experiencing up to this point to have the best chance of being able to fix this, to save his wolf. He then looked to Peter’s face, seeing his eyes closed but the muscles spasming in what had to be excruciating pain.

Stiles pulled out his phone, bringing up the navigation features to confirm true North.

“Okay,” Stiles said as he stood up. He grabbed Derek by the arm, hissing out, “You’re in the wrong spot.”

Derek furrowed his brows at Stiles while not getting moving, saying, “Wha—”

Before the wolf could say more, Lydia said in her trademark no-nonsense tone, though in a whisper—“Shut up, and let him think.”

Stiles shook his head to Derek’s unfinished word, dismissing it while focusing on developing a plan, saying, “You need to be at the south—fire.”

He left out that fire represented beginnings in its being the first element created, but then he stopped, pulling on Derek for a moment, thinking about if family should go there or pack. He thought hard on some of what fire symbolized. Then he shrugged as the aspects of fire, of power, will, and passion aligned well with the wild freedom that werewolves could embody.

Derek growled lowly as he stood up, “What the hell are you doing?”

Lydia whispered at him, “He’s problem-solving. If you hadn’t noticed, Peter’s dying, and fast.”

Derek’s eyes shot to Peter, seemingly seeing what Stiles already had. Paling, Derek found himself a little at a loss to be losing Peter, the last of his family. Again. All hope drained out of the wolf as his expression visibly withered.

Stiles was now more able to maneuver Derek to stand at the southern end of Peter, above the head. Once Derek was there, Stiles said, “Stay there. Issac—you should stand next to him as pack. Also, both of you shift.”

He then moved to Lydia, finding her already standing and offering him her hand. Stiles gently took her hand like she was a princess and led her to the western side of Peter, symbolizing water and its ability to both heal and destroy, change and receiving as a Banshee, his match intellectually, the setting sun, and death. 

Stiles softly kissed her cheek once she was standing at the left side of Peter, standing at the upper portion of his chest.

Then, moving to Allison, Stiles offered her his hand.

She shook her head no, keeping her already reloaded bow ready to fire as she said, “Just say where.”

Stiles nodded and guided her gently to stand at Peter’s feet, which conveniently was roughly the northern side of him for earth in her orderliness, dependability, and wisdom, which, in Stiles’ mind tied to her role as a hunter as well. 

Thankfully the genders of the directions and the people available to fill them aligned perfectly, plus having the wolf pack with the hunter while opposed in position and status would also help as a further symbolizing push and pull of Life and Death, plus everyone wanted the magic to work for one reason or another.

He then moved to be at the eastern portion of Peter on his right hand side, more toward the man’s legs and adjacent to Lydia as a spark, rising sun, East, her intellectual equal, and a healer. He would play the role of the light to her dark, the life to her death.

He then got out the pouch he had of his Mountain Ash and Wolf’s Bane blend. Taking a slow breath, he then took a handful of the powder mix from the pouch as he said, “Everyone kneel down. Don’t touch Peter but try to be close enough that you could touch him if needed.”

Stiles waited for everyone to shuffle into a closer position. Once he was sure, he took another breath and threw his handful of powder in the air. With his sparks’ magic, the powder fell in a circle of symbols around them that not only kept just about anything out, but also just about anything in. He knew the only possible weakness and even intended to address that as he knelt: the Nemeton. 

Placing both hands on the ground, he instructed, “Allison, you can safely put your bow down. Keep it in the circle though. Everybody kneel down and touch the ground with their fingers and palms of both hands like I am.”

Everyone did as he asked, if a bit staccato from the wolves. Stiles then said, “Focus inside yourself. Do so as deeply as you can, connecting to your inner spark, that spark within that connects to the magic, the dead, your wolf, or even your very soul. No short cutting. Get deep. Then, with that energy, push it into the earth, into the roots of the nature around us.”

Stiles took a breath and did as he instructed the others to do, but he went further, guiding the energies they provided. He then continued, saying, “Okay, now imagine all of our energies soaking into the roots of all the trees and other living things in and connected to the ground.”

Although he gave them a few moments to get the imagery solid in their mind, Stiles had no intention of doing everything so painfully slowly. Peter needed him. Next, Stiles said, “Okay, with that energy going into all of that life, imagine it reaching up and weaving their energies to ours. Let in flow over and under us, creating a circle of safety and power.”

After a few minutes more, Stiles said, “Now, with the circle made of us and the nature we are connecting to while still holding the sphere around us, twist that energy around into a surge and pour it into Peter from everywhere he is touching the ground, filling him up with the energy he’ll need.”

At the same time, Stiles felt something knocking at the door of his mind. Believing it was the Nemeton seeking explicit invitation, he opened himself up to it. He closed his eyes and steadied himself to prevent the others from seeing his eyes roll back in his head.

An eternity in hour, holding infinity in the palm of his hand, Stiles’ eyes suddenly shot open and he straighten after only a moment or two. His eyes were blacked beyond his pupils. 

Seeing this caused Derek to move as if to get up, but Stiles growled, then spoke with a strange echoing to his voice echoing and reverberating eerily with voices that came both from within and beyond: “No. Don’t move. Don’t stop.” 

He then looked to Lydia as he took his hands off the ground, saying, “Look me in the eyes and let your powers flow, up, into your eyes.”

Lydia nodded and took her fingers and palms off the ground like Stiles had.

Stiles nodded in approval to her as her eyes went white and then he began to speak, the strange voices speaking, murmuring from his mouth all at once, “With the Nemeton, hear our cry, our mercy. We provide you energy for your blessings in our actions.”

He then held out his left hand to Lydia’s right. 

Lydia gave her hand freely.

Fingers entwined as they held each other’s hand, Stiles then placed his right hand on Peter and nodded to Lydia.

In response to Stiles’ actions and nod, Lydia placed her left hand on Peter’s body.

Breathing deeply, Stiles then began to chant in an unknown language, the eloquent tones strangely primitive with the short words and stark, chopped cuts of syllables. Stiles closed his eyes as he continued to chant.

Translated, some of his words roughly were:

Life and death  
Pack and Hunter  
Men and Women  
Banshee and Spark  
Break the curse  
…  
Earth and Air  
Fire and Water  
Dead and Living  
Reverse the curse

Lydia closed her eyes too, beginning to chant the same lines as Stiles, the trance-like rhythm of the words pouring from her in sync with his seemingly endless voices as her own voice took on the same two to three voices quality even.

While Stiles and Lydia chanted and focused on Peter, the ground shook. Cracks in the earth appeared around them, but never reaching the circle. It was as if a literal earthquake was occurring while Stiles and Lydia, with the others’ help, worked with unseen forces to break and disperse the magic that was killing Peter.

It took seconds and forever. Now fully dark outside, Stiles heard the wolves gasping. His eyes shot open as he paused his chanting to look down at Peter in the dark. Oddly, Stiles could see him and, more importantly, could see that the spell had stopped. Peter was still messed up, but the spell seemed to have stopped before it outright claimed his life.

Smiling a bit, Stiles let go of Lydia’s hand.

She opened her eyes, unseeing, likely curious as to why they’d stopped, why he’d released her hand. At the same time, the overall white of her eyes, having surfaced with the magic, slowly eased away.

Stiles then took a deep breath, still touching Peter, as his eyes finally lightened, going back to normal. He let his deep breath out while saying, “Okay, you can all stop pushing energy out. Slowly ease your energies back into yourself, leaving them cycling and connecting to, and back into, your bodies.”

Shaking himself out a bit to loosen himself up and no longer touching anyone, Stiles added, “Derek, you guys should take some of his pain. I think it’ll help his healing.”

Issac perked a brow at Derek.

Derek nodded and touched Peter to drain what pain he could handle.

Issac did so as well, with Derek’s unspoken permission. 

While both the wolves were drawing Peter’s pain, he was visibly healing. Not instantly better but making notable gains.

Stiles turned to where he remembered Allison was even though he could no longer see in the dark, saying, “When Peter’s doing a bit better, we need to get out of here. I have no clue who Ennis is, but I’m in no rush to find out.”

“Ennis?!” Derek said suddenly.

Stiles looked in Derek’s general direction, saying, “Yeah, you know him? Peter said he and the witches are what or who did this to him.”

Derek growled lowly, “It’s another wolf. He must be here with the Alpha Pack.”

“Alpha Pack?”

“They left their mark on my door a couple of weeks ago. Usually they’d have challenged me and or demanded I kill my own pack by now, but nothing.”

Stiles sighed at the typically grumpy wolf. He then rolled his shoulders, reminding himself that it was not necessarily his problem until now. It was reasonable that, with his decision to ditch them and their colossal lack of realizing they had, in fact, been dropped, including Scott, that Stiles would not know any of the going’s on. He then asked, “So they after you and Scott?”

Derek hung his head, saying, “No. Or, I don’t know. My alpha spark is gone. It disappeared around the time Peter returned.”

Everyone there knew the context of what Derek was pointedly not saying and let it rest.

Stiles sighed, “Okay, so there are witches killing people in town, if you didn’t know. I figure since you shared yours, I’ll share mine. So far, Scott doesn’t seem to have noticed the murders. He’s too busy adding to his pack and stalking.”

Derek huffed, “He finally decide killing was okay?”

“No. I guess he’s what they call a true alpha. He got it for not killing or something like that. I don’t know. Sounds hokey to me, but it doesn’t matter. He’s not my problem anymore.”

Peter grunted, slowly sitting up. He was not fully healed, but was well enough to sit up and be aware as he snarked with his wrecked voice and wounded body, “What, lover boy thinks he’s too cool?”

Allison flinched at the lover boy comment.

Stiles rolled his eyes, knowing the wolves would see, “No. I ditched both packs of shit-can wolves.”

Now it was Derek’s turn to flinch.

Continuing, Stiles said, “Okay, I’m going to release the circle in a moment, then we need to get out of the preserve. The witches and, I guess, this Alpha Pack are here, in the preserve. WE need to not be.”

Peter then rolled his shoulders and offered Derek his hand, saying, “A little help, nephew?”

Allison stood, gathering her bow and arrows, loading up to defend the group as needed.

Derek helped to get Peter up.

Once on his feet, Peter sighed, saying, “Look, the witches aren’t just here. They are gathering a sacrifice. Whatever it is they are up to—it’s tonight.”

Stiles grumbled, “Shit.”

He then looked toward Lydia, asking, “You up for it?”

“Yeah,” Lydia responded as she stood up, dusting herself off. 

“Allison?” Stiles asked as he stood.

“I didn’t come out here for a picnic,” she said, already on her feet. Her bow was up with an arrow at the ready.

Stiles nodded, asking, “Peter, think you could back track their location?”

Peter grunted, “Should be able.”

Stiles nodded again to himself as he broke and dispersed the circle. Everyone was now able move to outside the circle without letting in other likely problems.

With the circle gone, Allison handed Lydia and Stiles each a flashlight. The girl was ready, it seemed, for things to take longer than Stiles initially expected.

Derek then nodded to both Peter and Issac.

Stiles rolled his eyes at their silent form of communication even though he could hear the wolves moving forward. Stiles took Lydia’s hand, saying quietly, “Don’t turn your flashlight on yet. We may need it to surprise and blind someone when we get where we are going.”

At the same time as Stiles and Lydia got moving, Allison took up protecting the group’s back. The whole group was reasonably quiet in their movements following Peter. It didn’t hurt that Stiles had a flashlight which greatly reduced the chances of any humans tripping.

Stiles was not sure how long they were following Peter’s limping form, only that the moon was high and full. That seemed quite foreboding to Stiles, but he didn’t mention it to the others, sure that everyone had likely already noticed.

While walking, Stiles could see Derek’s phone light up as he was texting.

Stiles whispered, “Texting Erica and Boyd?”

After a beat or two of no response Stiles said, “Human—no night vision for your brow signals.”

Derek growled softly, “Yes.”

Stiles gave himself a nod, not taking the lack of vision as an excuse for Derek’s choice of non-verbal communication. However, the wolf didn’t say anything else. It was probably best since they were walking into god only knew what.

Then, as if on cue, they stepped up to the edge of the grassy opening in the preserve. Stiles recognized it as the Nemeton’s home, but said nothing as he wasn’t sure who all knew. Regardless, it would be pointless in the moment as what they saw chilled Stiles to the bone. 

While the clearing in the preserve was no small chicken, it was still maybe around the width of two houses. About sixty feet from them at the edge of the forested Preserve, there was a massive bonfire lighting up the whole clearing. Near the bonfire were three wooden posts. Each post had a different person tied to it.

Stiles turned off his flashlight in response to the light the bonfire cast.

Even though he did not recognize them all, Stiles did see that one of the sacrifices was Jackson. All three were completely calm, even though they were clearly set up to burn like people had imagined all witches did in the dark ages, during the Salem Witch trials. On the other side of the probable sacrifices from Stiles were at least three unknown people which, he would bet, were the witches. Nearby were two more people standing on the near side of the sacrifices closest toward Stiles and the pack. 

However, there were three others on the side toward them that Stiles did recognize: Scott, Theo, and Deaton. The two former walking a few feet closer to the group. Deaton spoke for them all to hear, “I see you saw fit to bring Peter back to us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments & kudos are appreciated!


	10. Deal & Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pain. Life. Magic. Trick?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, the reason this is being published so closely to the previous chapter is because originally it was part of that chapter. In opting to separate, I figured I'd post this shorter chapter pretty much right after the last one once my betas were done with it <3
> 
> All the thanks to my wonderful betas!

Breathing deeply, Stiles then began to chant in an unknown language whose eloquent tones were strangely primitive with the short syllables and sharp clipped sounds. Stiles closed his eyes as he continued to chant.

Translated, some of his words roughly were:

Life and death  
Pack and Hunter  
Men and Women  
Banshee and Spark  
Break the curse  
…  
Earth and Air  
Fire and Water  
Dead and Living  
Reverse the curse

After having spoken the first iteration of the chant, Stiles found himself opening his eyes. Looking around, everything still appeared blank. It was not dark, but simply felt as though he were staring into a space filled with nothingness. It was the lack of anything rather than a presence of color. It was emptiness. 

Although at first it was just him in the dark emptiness, Stiles found himself soon joined by Lydia.

Her eyes opened to see Stiles. Looking around, Lydia almost like she was looking for something,but there was nothing to find. She looked to him, questioningly, as if he may know what was going on.

Before either of them could call out into the seemingly endless vacuum of nothingness, a lone dark fox approached them, though it somehow felt as if it had been there the whole time. The fox was projected such nothingness that the emptiness surrounding them seemed slightly filled by comparison. The fox reminded Stiles of a drawing of a fox with a twisted, human-like Cheshire grin.

The fox came within a couple feet of them, though there were no markers to indicate the nearness of the animal. The fox then sat before them, still grinning as he said, “I was starting to think you would never answer me.”

Tilting his head slightly, Stiles said, “You were the knocking in my head? The strange sensation I’ve been having? I thought that was the Nemeton.”

Bursting into hysterical laughter, the fox somehow became even more unsettling in its seeming merriment. Not sobering up a bit, the fox laughed and laughed as he spoke, “No, little kit. The Nemeton does not knock. It takes what is given… even keeping caged what is given—sentient or not.”

For the last few words from its mouth, the fox was no longer laughing, but rather had switched to sounding bitter.

Lydia then asked, “And why were you imprisoned?”

The fox, still grinning, “Does it really matter? I’m not here to tell stories…I’m here because I have something you want.”

Stiles continued to listen, working to accumulate as much information as he could while at the same time being concerned that Peter was running out of time. Lack of time did not mean taking reckless action, he tried to remind himself.

Lydia then said, “And what is that?”

“Answers,” the fox replied. “I know the curse that is affecting your friend…or is it lover?”

At the word lover, he stared blatantly at Stiles.

Stiles spoke finally. “Okay. So you know the curse. What do you want?”

“A host.”

Lydia gave Stiles a skeptical look.

Instead of responding verbally to Lydia’s visual inquiry, Stiles said, “So you’re offering what? The name of the curse in exchange for a host?”

The fox nodded, something flickering in his eyes. A hint of his chrome fangs showing in his smile.

Stiles said, “Okay. I will give you a host, if he consents. But you have to save him first.”

The fox replied, “Save him from the curse, then use him as host. Yes.”

Shaking his head no, Stiles said, “No. You get a host if you save the host you are in.”

The fox grinned no less, saying, “A bargain is struck.”

Stiles then closed his eyes once more, bringing the wounded wolf a bit closer to consciousness as he pulled Peter into his mind with Lydia and the fox. Stiles took a deep breath in and slowly out before opening his eyes, Peter now joining the group in the stark nothingness.

Unlike Lydia and Stiles, Peter was not wearing what he wore outside of Stiles’ mind. He was wearing a burgundy three-quarter sleeve, V-neck shirt, black form-fitting jeans, and his normal high-quality brown leather shoes. His hair was coifed stylishly, which was nothing like his mussed-up hair in the preserve. His eyes were clear, his intense pain visible nonetheless in both eyes and the flickering of his presence. 

Peter looked around himself and the group present as he pushed his sleeves up to his elbows. He perked a brow at the fox then looked to Stiles.

“Look, the fox is offering a deal—in exchange for saving you, you will be his host,” Stiles explained.

Peter tilted his head with a low growl. He took a deep breath through his nose. Peter then moved invasively closer to the fox to take another breath through his nose. Peter then asked, “What are you?”

With a nearly mocking grin, the fox responded, “A kitsune.”

The wolf then asked, “What kind?”

Stiles smiled, having known that Peter would be a good match in his deviousness for the trickster. Stiles desperately wanted to pull Peter close and hug him, but saving Peter’s life was the first step to resolving the situation as Stiles saw it in the moment.

The fox stretched itself briefly before straightening up, saying, “A Dark Kitsune.”

Peter then said, “I do not agree to the deal.”

The fox’s face then twisted unrealistically in a menacing expression, saying, “Prefer to die?”

Shaking his head, Peter corrected the fox, “No, but I don’t agree to that deal. I will be your host if, and only if, you cannot leave without my permission and you have to get out of me if I tell you to.”

The fox returned to grinning, saying, “I will agree to those terms if, given that you eject me, you must have a new host readily available for me. I won’t be put back out into nothing.”

Peter nodded. He then offered his hand to the fox.

The fox then shockingly stood upright on its hind legs and gave Peter its paw. 

The moment the two touched was like electricity as, in the blink of an eye, they were back in the preserve as if only a second have passed, the blink of an eye, a breath between words of time.

Stiles continued to chant with Lydia aloud as the fox chanted within all three of their minds.

With the power of a spark, banshee, and a kitsune at work, the ground shook and cracks formed in the earth around them, staying clear of the circle as they forced the magic killing Peter out of the wolf.

The magic was not fast, but was thorough. By the time the three magical creatures had forced the curse from Peter’s body, it was fully dark. It was then that Stiles heard the wolves gasping. 

His eyes shot open as he paused his chanting to look down at Peter’s still form in the dark. Stiles watched as Peter’s eyes opened, flashing that familiar, endlessly bright blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your thoughts on the dark kitsune?


	11. Illusions & Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Packs divided. Magic. Feral. Friends unmade. Loyalties tested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggering for violence and gore.

Present…

Evening and beneath the tall trees, both Derek’s pack and Stiles’ group stepped up to the edge of the grassy opening in the preserve. Stiles recognized the Nemeton stump up ahead, slightly off from the center of the clearing. What they saw from the tree line chilled Stiles to the bone. 

The whole clearing was over a hundred feet in width. About forty feet from the edge of the forested Preserve, there was a massive bonfire that lit up the whole clearing. Near the bonfire there were three wooden posts erected, each post had an individual.

Even though he did not recognize all of those connected to the posts, Stiles did see that one of them was Jackson. All three people seemed completely unphased even though they were clearly set up to burn like people imagine witches did during the dark ages or Salem Witch trials. On the other side of the probable sacrifices from Stiles were three unknown people, but one could safely bet were the witches as he assumed were two of the other people on the nearside of the sacrifices closest to Stiles and the pack. 

However, there were three others on the side nearest them that Stiles recognized: Scott, Theo, and Deaton. The two former were walking a step closer to the group, but not leaving the witches without protection. Deaton spoke for them all to hear as the others gathered even closer, “I see you saw fit to bring Peter back to us.”

Stiles could not help himself as he growled a low, wolf-like growl he had picked up from being near so much wolfkind. However, before he could do anything, Peter grabbed his arm. Although only the wolves nearest them would see, Stiles’ eyes blown black beyond his pupils as he whispered softly to something, someone that no one else seemed to see, “Well, hello.”

Even knowing the kitsune would feed on his emotions, Stiles could not bring himself to care about that detail. Beyond the kitsune now within him, Stiles was shocked to see Scott here, now, and on this side of the situation. While it hurt that Scott seemed oblivious to having been booted by the group, Stiles could barely hold back his anger at Scott thinking, beyond reason, that things were fine between them. Stiles found that, even having chosen to do things on his own, he never imagined having to fight Scott. Not literally, not like this. Unwilling to be so overly dramatic as to literally clutch his heart (or his theoretical pearls), he found himself left to be the villain in Scott’s story. Well, there was always two-sides to every story. 

Being the villain is not what he wanted, not what he considered himself, but Stiles knew in Scott’s mind that could easily be the case. Would be the case. It would never even cross Scott’s mind that maybe HE was in the wrong, that HE was on the wrong side of fate, and the villain, the rogue, in his and many a person’s story within the town. Stiles took a slow breath. He reminded himself that, no matter what happened, no matter the consequences, he had to stop the witches. He didn’t give two shits personally about any one specific person who would be sacrificed, but that did not mean it was okay for them to be sacrificed. These witches and their wolf hurt Peter. These witches were killing people. These witches were a threat to his Dad and friends overall. If that meant he had to save others he cared for, but also requiring he destroy Scott…Stiles grappled mentally, steeling his resolve for others to take the path, if that were truly where they had been led. Fate, it seemed, was a cruel mistress, indeed. “So be it.” Those three words were a stab into Stiles’ heart, but he knew he had to protect those he loved, regardless of the cost, though he was sorry to see the cost was his longtime friend. 

Even if Scott and he considered themselves brothers once upon a time, Stiles just could not let Scott take this from him. Stiles could not let Scott take away his loved ones with his, no-doubt, superficially moral perspective fueled by misplaced, but merciful intent.

Peter then let loose a nearly feral growl.

The growl re-focused and grounded Stiles. It got him back into the situation that could not be risked with internal monologuing. ‘What was this anyway, The Incredibles?’ he chastised himself.

Erica and Boyd were then visible to Stiles as his newfound kitsune powers, having been transferred into him from Peter through their brief touch with the beyond, meant he could now see in the dark. Stiles subtly shook his head no to the wolves who he knew were looking right at him.

Stiles ran his hand down Peter’s arm as he looked to Derek to see what ‘Brows’ thought.

Derek looked ready to charge and rip up those before them apart for their part in having hurt Peter so severely, though Stiles knew the wolf would never admit to it willingly.

Stiles then moved to be closer to Derek, not saying anything to the wolf, but showing his intent, that he was on the same side as Derek, communicating this to him in the silent way Derek was most willing to accept. Then, looking at Scott, the kitsune-formed blackness reigned itself back, clearing his eyes while using one of Stiles’ hands behind their back for a bit of magic on the things it could see, Stiles said, “What the ever-loving fuck, Scott?”

Scott grinned like the fool he often was, yelling, “Dude! These guys are Deaton’s friends. We have to protect them from Derek’s pack and Peter!”

Stiles barely prevented himself from rolling his eyes so hard they would potentially spring out of his head. Taking another grounding breath while the kitsune was still casting behind his back, Stiles said, loud enough for all the wolves to hear, “Dude, they’re burning sacrifices! What about that means it’s a good thing to be with them?”

Scott frowned, scrunching up his face. He then shook his head before saying, “It’s symbolic! No one is going to get hurt. I already talked to them. They’re doing this symbolic thing, and then they’ll leave. You know, without Deaton.”

With great exacerbation, Stiles said, “Really? Symbolic my ass! You can’t trust them Scott! What are you even doing here if this is so innocent?”

Not waiting for an answer, but rather using the possible assumption that he was going to further try to talk his way out of this or in any way be reasoned with, Stiles took Lydia’s hand and moved forward. He then saw that one of the three on the other side of the ‘sacrifices’ was at the altar and growling again. Letting go of Lydia’s hand and with Allison quickly at his side, Stiles moves forward toward Scott, to the growling of Derek and Issac.

To the side and beyond the ‘sacrifices,’ Stiles noticed two partially shifted wolves in a cage.

Lydia moved forward, a few steps behind Allison and Stiles, positioning herself between Allison and Derek’s group at Ally’s back.

Peter stood still, trusting the predator he knew Stiles was capable of being.

Scott smiled like a happy puppy, saying, “Allison! Did Stiles convince you that we are meant to be? Seriously, thanks brother! I feel so incomplete without her!”

Stiles could not suppress the flinch at being called ‘brother’ with everything looking to go so hard sideways at any moment. With a metaphoric dagger to stab his ex-friend in the back, Stiles kept himself moving forward.

Allison made some motion at Stiles’ side that Stiles saw Scott reacting to.

Stiles then said again, “What are you doing, Scott?”

Scott, still smiling, said in a friendly tone as he brought his claws out, “The right thing! I’m protecting Deaton and his group from Peter and Derek. They’re tainted! Like y—”

Cutting Scott off, a werewolf burst out of the cage the kitsune had been weakening with the magical casting behind Stiles’ back. The wolf that burst from the cage was male and looked a bit crazed. The second wolf to jump out of the cage was female and looked out right feral, dangerous, uncontrollable.

Unceremoniously and with haste, Stiles broke from Allison’s side, running toward the witch at the altar. Unsurprisingly, Stiles saw in his periphery vision that Peter was running beside him.

The now loose partially shifted wolves—the male and red-eyed alpha female—charged forward.

The male went for Peter and Stiles while the female ran past them for the others.

Peter diverged from Stiles’ path to meet the male wolf at the edge of Stiles’ line of vision.

Stiles could hear the twang of Allison’s bow as arrows were released in quick succession while the clash of claws and fangs of the wolf conflict echoed behind him where the feral female, Derek’s pack, and Scott’s duo were fighting. 

On his other side, he saw Lydia making a good pace toward the witches from the periphery of his vision.

Seeing Theo and Scott break off towards the others, Stiles figured they saw him as just a powerless human. In the back of his mind, the kitsune chuckled wildly. “If only they knew.”

Stiles grinned at the kitsune’s words, the ominous implications hanging heavy in his mind. He then moved faster, realizing the witches and Deaton were already starting the ritual. Stiles muttered a quick, “Fuck,” before shit started getting even louder; impacts, growls, and more unidentified fighting noises continued around them as Erica and Boyd joined by his side.

Erica and Boyd took a protective stance by him.

The witches were spreading out into a semi-circle for the ritual.

Allison grabbed Stiles’ arm, trying to pull him back.

Stiles turned briefly, aiming a nod to the female alpha wolf.

Allison let him go, beginning another rapid firing arrows toward the onslaught.

Stiles looked to Erica and Boyd, “Help the others. I got this.”

Turning back to the witches, Stiles had intended to move forward to begin his own form of attack, but the feral wolf caught his attention as it sought to defend the witches; protecting them likely meant killing him, which wasn’t a thought he would ever grow fond of.

The witches were busy too, as they cast a circle of fire around the group that encapsulated three of the witches, Deaton, the feral male wolf, and Stiles. The other witches were outside the circle to further defend the circle and what it held.

Seeing the wolf moving toward him, Stiles backed away quickly, stumbling back just in time, missing the wolf’s clawed swipe just as Peter leapt through the fire. 

While Peter dealt with the wolf, Stiles shouted and threw a large dirt clod at them. “Down!”

Peter moved in time to dodge and tilted his head briefly to the side.

Stiles motioned toward the witches as he grabbed additional rocks from the ground. He then rapid-fire threw the rocks at the wolf, attempting to take its attention from Peter, if only for a moment or two. Stiles knew Peter needed to repay the witches for the spell they had cast on him, sure to make quick work of them and leaving the unknown wolf behind him.

Stiles then started moving in a semi-circle while grabbing more rocks off the ground. Now though, he and the kitsune were shifting the rocks magically to become something thick and burning as they flew through the air at the male wolf.

From this vantage point, Stiles could see part of the action that had been taking place behind him; the female alpha was digging her claws deeply into Derek’s shoulder socket before ripping out his arm in one swift crack and squelch as gore hit the grass in a thick outpouring of blood and fibrous tissues. 

The arm itself was then tossed aside, like a Frisbee, into the surrounding woods.

Derek howled, but did not gave no ground. He was currently all that stood between the Alpha female and Allison.

Toward the middle of their messy foray lay an exhausted and bloody Issac who took the carnage as a signal to charge forward to attack, only to have the Alpha ram both of their claws into his gut. The teen’s eyes went wide as dark life’s blood trickled thickly from his abdomen. The Alpha tossed Issac aside like a used tissue and her muzzle twitched in a silent, rumbling growl.

At the same time, Allison knocked her arrows, firing toward the Alpha female, too many missing their mark and implanting in Theo instead.

Before anyone could react, they all heard—painfully in some cases—Lydia let loose a banshee cry, killeing on impact any witch that dare step outside of the fiery ring.

Then chaos really erupted. Boyd threw Erica onto the Alpha and then charged the her legs, knocking the feral woman down. However, the feral she-wolf plucked Erica off of her and threw the girl so hard that no doubt the whole clearing could hear the crack of her skull against the tree trunk. The woman also side stepped and kicked at Boyd as he was trying to stand back up.

The male wolf raked a clawed hand over Stiles’ mid-section as the teen tried to yank himself back from the onslaught. 

Stiles landed roughly on his back, but had no time for any witticisms as the wolf tried to grab and pin him down. Stiles quickly rolled away, then grabbed a couple more rocks as he stood back up and attempting to further the distance between him and the wolf. Even faster with the kitsune, Stiles was struggling to keep his attention where it was needed: he really wanted to protect so many of the people here. However, just remembering what was done to Peter made Stiles growl again as he forced his brain forward—into the moment.

Seeing the wolf and what all was happening, especially the eerily calm sacrifices still attached to their posts, it all clicked in Stiles’ head: magic. That was the problem. Instead of continuing to stay away from the male wolf, Stiles grinned as he let the kitsune in on the plan and began to work his way closer to the wolf. He needed touch, needed just a moment, but he really hoped the moment would succeed without it costing his life.

Peter attacked the witches while Stiles fought his way closer and closer to the wolf, the kitsune inside of him chanted the spell to prepare for Stiles’ intent.

Out of the periphery of his vision, Stiles caught Scott leaping through the flames, heading straight for him.

Scott yelled something that Stiles did not catch, which seemed to cause the wolf he was dealing with to twist suddenly and charge Peter, who was finishing off the last witch within the flaming circle.

Turning, Stiles found himself facing Scott, the wolf charging at him with flaring, intense red eyes.

Narrowly, Stiles, with the kitsune’s help, was able to dodge the blow. Stiles then carefully began to put some distance between he and Scott, even as the wolf recovered from the near miss. 

At the same time Scott began walking toward him, Stiles spoke, “Scott, don’t make me do this. Things aren’t great between us, but I don’t want to hurt you if I don’t have to!”

Scott growled, “Have to?” The haughty air of privileged, powerful wolf emanated from him, his glowing red eyes only adding to the effect. “You’re just human, Stiles. You can’t hurt me. You should’ve stayed out of this. I had it under control! Why did you let Peter use you like this? Or was it Derek who convinced you that something bad was happening?”

Stiles could not help but notice the feral edge to Scott’s eyes and tone of voice. Taking a deep breath, while he still could, Stiles whispered the kitsune, “No killing.”

Scott ugly-laughed at Stiles words, charging claw-first at Stiles, “You could’ve stayed out of this! I tried to protect YOU!”

The kitsune, noting the opening, reached out and grabbed Scott’s wrists, swinging the wolf around with its own momentum, keeping him off balance and jettisoning him back through the flames.

Regaining control, Stiles re surfaced when Scott quickly stumbled back, landing with a loud, painful sounding thud.

Stiles stood perfectly still, waiting while as he listened to all of the different wolves fighting, but there were no more human death cries. He unsheathed his wooden bat. Unlike the old bat, this was carved wood imbued with Wolf’s bane through a sealant process and wrapped in mistletoe. 

Scott laughed at Stiles. He then said, “What? Gonna break your bat on me? Not fiscally conscious of you, is it?”

Stiles looked Scott in the eyes, “Not quite my plan, no.”

Apparently not concerned enough to faulter, Scott came within Stiles’ reach with glaring red eyes in an attempt to intimidate the human into cooperating.

Stiles sighed, tilting his head briefly, then mumbling about akin to how some people never learn. A half second later, Stiles suddenly swung the bat as he crouched down. The harrowing echo that followed wasn’t the bat shattering, but the breaking Scott’s leg.

Scott dropped like a bag of potatoes, howling in pain.

Stiles quickly stood back up. He quickly moved himself out of Scott’s range, but not fast enough. This time a deep claw sluiced across his back while turning away.

Suddenly, Peter was on Scott, clawing and biting, fighting with the younger Alpha whose rapid regeneration had already sped the injured leg toward healing.

Unwilling to cry out from Scott’s slice to his back, Stiles continued to put distance between them as best he could. He bit his tongue, trying not to cry out as the burning on his back intensified. Suddenly, a few feet away from where Scott and Peter were fighting, the feral male wolf was suddenly in Stiles’ space.

Stiles could hear the continued sounds of fighting outside the flames, pained yowls of some of the wolves drifting his way on the wind, but he did not dare look. Stiles swung his bat hard at the wolf’s head, dazing him for only a second or six. He didn’t know, time seemed to be spiraling away from him, as if happening in slow motion and fast forward at the same time. Dropping his bat, Stiles surrendered left hand and eye to the Kitsune, who was still chanting in their combined mind to build a spell. Trying to buy time, Stiles grabbed what rocks he could from the ground and threw them at the wolf, one handed, while dodging its claws to the best of his ability. The wolf got Stiles deep in the side, his next gambit to get away failing miserably. Luckily, he had dodged the worst of the attack and Stiles used his momentum to get up close and personal with the wolf for the spell. The wolf rammed one clawed hand right through Stiles’ right side as Stiles finally grabbed the wolf’s bare skin with his hand. 

They were both frozen, hours passed within a single second as Stiles and the kitsune shoved their brewing magic into the wolf through the hand that held him.

Unnoticed, at first, were several gun shots echoing through the open air of the clearing as someone behind them let out a wheezing death rattle. “ALLISON!”

A few seconds later, Stiles let go of the wolf and crumpling to his knees as the witches’ magic blasted out, shattering all around them. The witches’ magic, among other things, put out the fiery circle and melted the illusion off the witch who had previously appeared to be Deaton.

The initial point of combustion for the magical blast was from Stiles’ hold on the wolf before collapsing. 

Stiles, short of breath and dizzy from his heart racing, looked to see the wolf in front of him was shifting back to his human form.

The wolf’s turned human was shaking and revealed to be none other than a panicked Alan Deaton. He withdrew his blood-soaked hand from Stiles’ body, pulling it out slowly.

Considering Deaton no real threat in the current moment, Stiles looked around himself. Where was Peter? Chris Argent was there with Allison, who had three arrows sticking out of both sides and her hip, as well as some light claw marks and bruises. There was plenty of blood all over the clearing and on Lydia who was down on her knees but appeared fine. He assumed that Lydia being on hands and knees had to be from the immense force of her scream. Where all the blood had come from, he had no clue.

Bloodied from the fight, Derek limped closer to, and slit the throat of, the feral female alpha that Chris had apparently (and somewhat overzealously) shot the living shit out of, making Derek once more an alpha.

Theo was nowhere to be seen.

Bloody and quite clearly wounded, Scott was still in the midst of fighting Boyd. While his legs were not fully healed, as an alpha, Scott still had an edge against Boyd whose rage seemed to be hitting a fever peak. Scott slammed his fist hard into the side of Boyd’s head, knocking the wolf out, features returning to resting Boyd-bitchface. 

All three people tied to the sacrificial posts were a massive mix of yelling, howling, and growling, begging and sometimes threatening, to be let loose now that the magic on them had dissipated with the magical blast.

Derek limped his way over to Stiles. From the looks of him, he had taken a brutal beating, bleeding from claw wounds littered across his body, far too numerous to be healed by the once again alpha. It took a moment before the shock wore off and Stiles could see, where his right arm should be attached, there was nothing but a bloody pit, an empty shoulder socket crusting with blood as the flesh attempted to knit itself back together. Once he got to Stiles, Derek felt with his left hand around Stiles’ largest wound, causing the boy to both tense and whimper.

Derek moved to Stiles’ back to see if the claws had gone all the way through.

At the same time, Scott rushed to the rest of his pack, letting them all loose. Rather than being grateful, all three sacrifices were miffed, to say the least.

Jackson punched Scott hard enough in the gut for Scott to double over.

Malia just ran off into the woods—no words, no violence, no looking back.

Adrian was still angry, his eyes flaring as he moved languidly to Scott’s side, helping his alpha to upright himself.

Through his coughing and fast, shallow breathing, Stiles flashed a macabre smile, blood dripping from his nose and lips. He watched Allison begin shooting at Scott, arrows plummeting swiftly from the sky as she seemed to effortlessly work her bow like a harp. He focused once more on Derek, tears in his eyes, knowing that so brutal a fight may have claimed more than an arm. He looked into Derek’s eyes, asking, “Who made it?””

Scott turned around to face who was shooting at him, shocked to find that it was Allison.

With an arrow pulled back on her bow ready to be shot, Allison warned the stalker-come-wolf: “Stop. Put your hands on your head and get down on your knees.”

In shock, Scott cooperated. The wolf-boy seemed at a loss as he looked around at the aftermath.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Chris slapped Wolf’s Bane infused cuffs on the teen’s wrists.

Even with Scott cooperating, Allison kept her bow aimed and ready. She also called out to Lydia, “You okay, sweetheart?”

Lydia giggled before her smile fell short, moving to Stiles’ side, “Yeah.”

Stiles heard a hard punch and swore he saw, out of the corner of his eye, Scott get pulled up by one of the intended sacrifices.

Stiles, instead of focusing on how incredibly much he hurt right at that moment, asked Derek, “How’d we fair?”

Using just his one hand, Derek took off his shirt and started shredding it into strips by hooking a bit of the shirt under his knee. Putting his knee down as a weight on the edge of the shirt, he pulled with his remaining hand to rip the shirt into messy strips to bind up Stiles wounds. At the same time, Derek’s brow furrowed as though he had even less words than normal. He finally managed to say, “You’re an idiot.”

Stiles tried to laugh, but every breath hurt more than the last, like his ribs were turning into some kind of sadistic Chinese finger trap. He leaned on Derek, despite them not being close. Stiles knew he did not have the strength to spend holding himself up, even if he wanted to be strong for his friends.

When Lydia got to him, Stiles shrugged her touch off, saying, “No worries, my goddess.”

Tears were filling Lydia’s eyes as she carefully refrained from touching her friend too hard. Instead, she gently set a hand on Stiles’ shoulder in a show of support, before grabbing the strips Derek was making to try to bind up Stiles’ wounds.

After looking down to see all the blood and chunks oozing out of him, Stiles managed a pained: “Tell Ally and Chris that if Scott were to be accidentally shot a few times, no one would know better—”

Stiles’ words were broken with a strangled groan of pain as Lydia kept wrapping his wound.

Lydia then said to Derek, “Go grab shirts from anyone that could spare one—he’s losing a lot of blood.”

Seeing how bad Stiles was, Derek did not hesitate to go and get more shirts from Allison and Chris, throwing both to Lydia. All assumed that the wolves who were still alive would heal, but Stiles was human, he didn’t have the wolves’ healing perks.

Lydia, while wrapping his wound, tried to assess the rest of Stiles’ wounds as best she could.

Stiles fought to stay with it for the newer wolves. He managed to say, “Please… bring.… to me..… Al—”

Stiles lifted a hand to reach out for Lydia since Derek was no longer there to lean on.

Deaton knelt to Stiles’ level as if to help.

The last thing Stiles heard was Lydia screaming for Derek as darkness closed in around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? Did anything in the chapter take you by surprise? 
> 
> Comments & kudos are appreciated! They help feed my plot bunnies <3


	12. Life & Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nogitsune. Animal attacks. Sheriff Stilinski.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potentially triggering for trauma and medical. Plus EXTRA thank you to my betas as with their help I am able to put this out a little earlier than expected!
> 
> Extra special shout-out and thank you to KouriArashi! Their series "The Sum of Its Parts" completely inspires part of what happens in this story! Thank you so much KouriArashi for the idea/inspiration!

Stiles fought to stay with it for the newer wolves. He managed to say, “Please… bring.… to me..… Al—”

Stiles reached out for Lydia.

Deaton knelt to Stiles’ level to see if he could help.

As Stiles lost consciousness and slumped over onto her, Lydia yelled frantically for Derek.

Before Lydia could do anything else, Stiles shot upright, his hand gripped Lydia’s shoulder with a crushing force, making her wince.

Once physical contact was established, Lydia’s eyes darkened, pupils blown with the mystical force they had only seen a few times before. Her voice once again took on the eerie echo and reverberation of many speaking at once: “Peter!”

With a groan, Peter fumbled his way to sitting up. Perking a brow, he said, “Derek, some help?”

Derek moved to Peter as Deaton did the same. The two helped Peter up onto his remaining leg, his arms around both their shoulders for support. His left leg lay still and heavy in the grass behind them as the three moved forward in an almost comical three- (or was it five?) legged race.

When they got to Stiles and Lydia, Peter said, “Set me down next to Stiles. Gently, please.” He tensed in pain as they lowered him to the floor of the clearing, trying to push back his physical trauma; Stiles needed him.

Once half sitting, half slumped on the ground, Peter laid his hand on Stiles’ limp wrist.

At the moment of contact, Stiles’ arm released Lydia entirely, the black draining from her eyes like an hourglass depleting of sand.

Once emptied of the dark kitsune, Lydia then clamped both her hands over her mouth, fighting not to risk letting a scream out. Her body was rippling with horror, a banshee shriek trying to will itself from her like some kind of magical projectile vomit. The struggle to contain it causing her nails to pierce the soft tissue on the backs of her hands, biting her lip as tears streamed down her face.

Meanwhile, Peter’s left eye went black, his right eye maintaining its natural crystalline blue. Peter felt he was on a cliff trying not to fall off, his entire being screaming for him to bite Stiles, to turn him. Struggling to tamp down the howling wolf inside, Peter asked in a whisper that was all too loud with the chorus of eerie voices entwined with his own, “Alison, did you bring Lydia’s purse?”

Allison crept closer, wary and always at the ready, putting herself just within Peter’s line of sight, “Yeah, it’s in Stiles’ jeep.”

White-knuckling his control, Peter gave a faint nod, “Argent—you know where the jeep is?”

Chris Argent then moved to stand beside his daughter, careful not to touch her; he had lost that privilege long ago. In his worn jeans, gray shirt, boots, brown jacket, not to mention a suspicious frown, Argent said, “Yeah…what’s going on here?”

Bypassing Chris, Peter said, “Lydia—go with Argent to the Jeep. Come back with your purse. Leave now. We need to save Stiles, but he’s running out of time.”

Lydia wasted no time in grabbing Chris Argent’s wrist and pulling him along while her other hand was held tightly to her mouth still.

Peter then shifted his head slightly to look at Deaton, “Bring my leg over… it should be somewhere over by the altar.”

Deaton nodded before going to grab the limb.

Derek then spoke, “Peter wh—”

Cutting Derek off, Peter said, “No time. Do you know where your arm is?”

Derek shook his head no, a concerned, but quizzical expression etched on his face.

To the lack of sound, Peter said, “Words. I can’t see you or maintain balance when turning to see you, nephew!”

“No,” Derek said.

Peter swallowed hard, the effort of working with the kitsune, and confusion with this mental/physical connection, still so new and strange to him. Within himself, the kitsune strove to maintain a thin balance of connection with the wolf, allowing him to communicate with the others while the kitsune bridged the gap between himself and Stiles, allowing the werewolf’s superior healing to seep through just enough to keep the boy alive, but not enough to drain Peter into reopening his own wounds.

Then, they said in unison once more, “Derek, go look for your arm. I think this plan is gonna paint you a hero. Ally—Allison, when your Dad gets back, you, Boyd, and the boy you’ve got cuffed need to get the hell out of here. You guys were never here.”

Allison nodded curtly, saying, “Lydia’s staying?””

“Yes…and make sure she has her phone and purse with her,” Peter said. Working things out in his mind, he did not bother containing his surprise at how quickly Argent and Lydia made it back. 

Cooperating with the kitsune, who had full access to Stiles’ memories, allowed them work better as well as faster. Both in response to Lydia and Argent’s return and the information he and the kitsune had exchanged, Peter said, “Lydia, grab your mini sewing kit from your purse.”

Deaton then returned with Peter’s amputated leg.

Peter added, “Deaton, use her kit to sew my leg on. No need to be gentle. Just get it attached enough to kick start the healing as soon as possible.”

Having come to at some point, Boyd shifted forward into Peter’s view, kneeling and whispering softly into Peter’s ear as he helped Deaton get the leg positioned correctly, “I sure hope you know what you are doing.”

Peter then said to Derek— “Status?”

In response, Derek said, “Found my arm. Issac’s hurt bad. Erica’s not much better. Then there is that beta of Scott’s that Chris has in cuffs. The rest of Scott’s pack, including Scott, has turned tail and run.”

Peter nodded, “Good. Once my leg is attached, Deaton can sew your arm back on as best he can—be fast, just like you’re being with mine. He’ll need to be wrapped ‘cuz we’re all going to be busy with our own tasks. Allison, Chris, and Boyd—take Scott’s beta to Derek’s loft. Put the beta in a circle. Boyd—watch the beta. No torture—yet. Chris, get Allison home and patched up. Deaton will carry Erica and Issac to the other side of the preserve from where we came in. Use Issac’s phone to call 911 from there for Erica and Issac. Basic animal attack. You were on a walk and stumbled upon them. “

After a low growl of pain from the quick, rapid tug-tug-tug of the stitches, Peter then continued, “Lydia, you stay. You came with Stiles. You guys were attacked. Too dark to know by what. Derek and I heard, came running. Derek beat me here. The animal hurt his arm in the struggle, scaring it off and saving Stiles’ life. But first, we need to carry him closer to the road.”

After a deep breath, he said, “Boyd, Ally, Chris, grab the beta and leave now. You’ll need a head start.”

With Peter’s leg attached roughly to him, Deaton moved to quickly do the same for Derek. Once done, he wrapped the area with the last bit of fabric strips that Lydia had not already used on Stiles. Deaton made quick work of it, aware the healing would be slow from it being an alpha’s wound.

Seeing them moving to leave and Derek’s arm wrapped, Peter took a very deep breath, letting the kitsune blend back fully into Stiles. “Okay, Deaton. Time to go.”

Derek stared at Peter, but did as he was told without asking any questions.

Deaton did as he was ordered to without hesitance. The man put one teen over each shoulder and took off in a supernaturally fast run.

Moments later, Peter groaned in pain, then said, “Derek help me up. Time for us to go.”

Once on his feet, Peter shook out his arms. He picked up Stiles and then draped the boy over Derek’s good shoulder, the one where the arm stayed attached. Peter then moved with Lydia and Derek to head towards the road as fast as they could while he looked to make sure Deaton had already left.

Peter then called in the “animal attack” on Lydia’s phone while she faked hysterics in the background, working to hold her hand over her mouth just in case. Meanwhile, Derek grunted here and there in pain to help things sound right for the police and ambulance to get there as a quickly as possible. Peter even name-dropped Stiles Stilinski to speed things up.

When they got to the jeep, Stiles was practically blue. 

Peter dropped the phone. “Put him down.”

Once Derek fumbled about to lay Stiles down, Peter began giving him mouth to mouth in a desperate attempt for him hold on, saying, “Derek, you do the breaths, I’ll do compressions; me three times, then you three times, got it?”

Derek responded by dropping to his knees, the two working in tandem to perform CPR.

While Derek was breathing into Stiles, Peter whispered to the boy as he surrendered his Alpha spark to Stiles, “Please don’t do this. You didn’t want to be bitten. Don’t make me violate your will. I can’t let you go.”

As the ambulance lights came into view, Peter continued life saving techniques with Derek. He refused to stop even though he could hear Stiles’ body trying to suck in more air, but it just was not enough. He and Derek did not stop until the EMTs took over while getting Stiles into the ambulance.

\---------------------------------------------------

Forty minutes later…

In the ER, everything was a rush of loud and all too familiar sounds for Sheriff Noah Stilinski, even though his wife had been gone for years. In a too-well-worn uniform, he went to nurse behind the front desk, outright cutting in a non-existent line. “I’m Stiles Stilinski’s father. I was told he was here.”

Noah worried even more as the nurse’s face turned pale at his son’s name.

The nurse said, “I… I’ll grab someone to take you to where you need to be.”

With those words out there, the nurse quickly moved out from behind the desk to grab someone.

To where he needed to be. “And where was that,” he contemplated to himself. Was she grabbing a doctor to tell him the news and make the long, methodical way back to the morgue? The way she had stiffened, looked ill, and rushed off didn’t reassure him in the least. His mind started to go blank as the familiar numbness of loss crept upon him like a long lost friend, one he had hoped to never see again.

Drawn out of his dream-like state by a rough tapping and shaking of his shoulder, Noah was met by Melissa McCall—his friend and the mother of his son’s best friend. 

Melissa was looking a little ragged for a brief flash, before giving a strained smile. She was wearing her mauve-pink scrubs. She kept up a sad smile that was likely intended to give the man hope. She motioned for him to follow her as she spoke. “Stiles isn’t in great shape. He was rushed into surgery only a few minutes ago. We got lucky and the doctor believes there’s damage to only one of his lungs. They can’t confirm much for sure though until they get a better look at what’s going on in there.”

Noah’s heart hurt, a stabbing, wrenching pain building more and more with each word Melissa shared. His son’s lung? What had happened to his son?

\---------------------------------------------------

Twenty minutes later…

Peter stepped into the taupe and gray colored waiting area. Alone in the too-big space, Sheriff Stilinski was sitting by himself, sticking out like a sore thumb.

Noah, head in his hands, was failing to hide the trembling of his shoulders as he cried, desperately hoping what was left of his shattered heart wouldn’t be smashed to pieces whenever the news of his son’s condition finally came back. “Live, damn it. You’re a Stilinski. I thought I taught you better than that. You’re a Stilinski…” His pathetic, whispered pleas to no one trailed off with a break in his voice. He was disheveled as if he’d not bathed or changed in far too long. There also was a hint of whiskey mixed in the many scents of the Sheriff. 

Making a courtesy noise, Peter came to sit right across from Noah. 

While he knew Stiles’ preference, Peter was in no rush to be on the Sheriff’s good, or bad, side, especially with how closely intwined Peter intended to be with the Stilinski’s after this. As a result, Peter started with an attempt at a playful smile to help break the ice. “How about these animal attacks, huh?”

Noah looked up, readying himself to yell at whoever dare utter such an insensitive remark with what remained of his energy and sanity. Realizing who sat across from him, he swallowed his reprimand before giving a staccato nod. 

Peter sighed and moved to lean a bit closer, adding quietly, “What if these weren’t animal attacks?”

The sheriff came to full attention, eyes narrowed at Peter, saying with false confidence, “What do you mean? Of course, they’re animal attacks.”

Peter took a breath before he said, “Stiles said you already were suspicious. You thought there were just too many, too easily brushed off. You just couldn’t make any connections between all the victims.”

The sheriff aggressively stood, saying, “What the hell are doing talking to my son?! What the hell is going on here?”

Peter stood too, careful not to show any aggression. “I’ve been sleeping at your house nearly every night for months.”

Noah’s face was beet red, both hands clenched into fists.

Before the other man could explode, Peter continued, “Because your son was afraid to be alone. Because he had been assaulted, but didn’t think the police could protect him.”

Having the wind knocked out of him, Noah deflated some, but did not sit. “That does not mean that the police cannot still help, and WHY the FUCK didn’t my kid come to—no, wait, I don’t want your answer—stay the hell away from my son and stay the hell out of our business!”

Peter continued to speak as if the Sheriff had said nothing at all: “And that’s because you guys can’t handle the supernatural. You can’t even fathom something so unfamiliar.”

The sheriff rolled his eyes. He did loosen his fists, unconsciously, looking toward the ceiling with his head tilted back. “Really?”

Peter barely kept a smile off his face, seeing that charming Stiles’ eye roll and dry wit on the older man. Peter then held up his own hand and shifted it, and the arm, to his beta form, claws and all.

Upon returning his attention to Peter, the sheriff just stared for a long moment at the furred hand and arm. He then reached out to touch it, but faltered, realizing what he had been about to do. 

Peter did not feel like he had time for this, grabbing the man’s hand and putting it on his arm as he said, “This is real. This is real and I need you to know it’s not just some trick. I’m trying to save your son from getting hurt even more. I’m faster, stronger, and I heal better. I don’t need you to know it all. I don’t need you to even know what I am. I just need you to listen to me. I can hear that they’re doing with his surgery, but he’s only got a fifty-fifty chance, at best right now. If, it at any point, it looks like he won’t make it, I’m going to turn him into something like me so that he’ll survive.”

Noah tried to pull his hand free and away from the furred arm, but Peter was strong enough that it didn’t matter. After finally looking Peter in the face, he stopped struggling, seeing something that gave him pause.

Peter continued further— “I need you to know, and understand, what I’ve told you. I’m not asking you to like me or what I am or anyone else like me, but know that those who hunt people like us will hunt Stiles, too. They hurt him, even as a human, because he saw the humanity in us where they couldn’t. They never will.”

With those words, Peter finally let the sheriff go. He then walked towards the door, pausing before looking back. “And, just so you know, your son saved at least four lives tonight…and he’s not done.”

Peter left to go see how Derek and Issac were doing, not waiting or wanting, to see Noah’s reaction. He wasn’t sure if he would regret how harsh he was about Stiles with the Sheriff, but he simply could not help it. Not after having seen the state Erica was in. That Stiles had saved him, and not just from death. He had helped to save most of them, at one point or another.

Clenching, then relaxing his fists, Peter took the long way to Derek’s room. Unsurprisingly, when Peter entered, Derek was still awake, staring at the ceiling of the darkened room.

Without looking at Peter, Derek said, “Have you heard about Issac? Erica? Have you come to scold me? Laugh in my face?”

Peter sighed and dropped himself into the seat beside Derek’s bed. “I saw Erica and heard about Issac.”

Rather than saying anything else, Peter simply placed a hand over Derek’s hand, sure not to touch the newly reattached arm, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Derek looked over to Peter with surprise written clearly all over his face.

He left his hand clapsed in Peter’s, then returned to staring at the ceiling.

\---------------------------------------------------

Sunrise the next morning…

Both wolves had stayed awake, holding hands all night. Neither found comfort in this land of life and death. It was brutal for each of them to be re-exposed to this traumatic place as there wasn’t even a need for either of them to be at the hospital; neither of them were in dire straits, but the people they cared about were still hurt again.

As they could see the faintest evidence of the coming day through the cracks in the closed blinds, Derek finally broke their silence. “Why are you here, Peter?”

Peter sighed and then said, “Trying to stay out of trouble without leaving him fully alone.”

Derek didn’t bother to ask why or who. He clearly had his own suspicions about what Peter meant.

With a put-upon sigh, Peter said, “Plus, I knew you’d need my cheery attitude.”

Derek huffed.

In response, Peter flashed a genuine smile; however, the moment and smile were so brief that if Derek had blinked he could have missed it.

Then they heard it: Stiles’ normally erratic heart was elevating in speed. 

Peter was on his feet in seconds. 

Derek was on his feet only a couple seconds later.

Both men immediately tracked Stiles’ heart beat all the way to the door of his hospital room.

Derek paused to take a sniff first, finally learning from his past.

Peter did not. Immediately, he let himself into the room.

There, in the two-bed shared hospital room, were Stiles and Noah.

Noah was awake, barely hanging onto consciousness.

Stiles was sleeping, but he looked distressed, tossing and turning, which couldn’t be good for his stitches.

Peter moved to Stiles’ side, knowing that whatever was happening in his unconscious state was not normal, healthy, safe sleep.

Noah stood to get in between his boy and Peter; however, he found himself in a firm, but not painful, grip on the wrist of his hand which had sidled for his weapon.

Derek kept his hand on Noah’s wrist, giving a sharp squeeze in warning.

Peter gently nudged Stiles over, toward the railing on the other side of the bed. He then, unceremoneiously, nudged off his shoes with the toe of either foot, climbing into the bed. He wrapped an arm around Stiles and pulled him gingerly to his side, shifting to his half form.

Stiles immediately stopped shifting, flipping and other movements in his sleep, heartbeat slowing to his normal, calmed rate.

Derek looked at his uncle and Stiles with a weird expression crossing his face.

Regardless of others’ actions, Noah used his other arm to grab his weapon.

But Derek being Derek, he quickly released one wrist to grab the other, forcing the gun to stay down by the sheriff’s side. He then nodded toward Peter and Stiles.

Noah turned to face the two on the bed.

Stiles slowly opened his eyes, rolling over in Peter’s arms to snuggle in closer, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Stiles took a shaky breath before tears started to slide down his cheeks, his breath labored. Each sob that wracked his body caused a grunt of pain to ripple through his tender flesh, but he didn’t care.

Noah was still unsure of himself, unsure of Peter and their earlier conversation, but he could see the ease with which his son had trusted them. Opening his mouth, he couldn’t help himself, “Stiles, get away from that monster!”

Stiles slowly turned to Noah and held out a trembling arm, barely able to lift it in his current state, breath hitching as he tried to stem the flow of tears.

Noah gave a haggard sigh, eyes glistening with pain and unshed tears as he holstered his weapon. He then moved to Stiles and hugged him as he was beckoned to do. 

Stiles tried to pull both men close, but he was unable to.

Recognizing Stiles’ intent, both Peter and Noah moved closer, each afraid of what would happen if they let go.

Weakly whispering a fear into the breath between all three of them, Stiles finding a space in their so tight together embrace for a moment to between labored breath warble out “I wasn’t sure…I didn’t think…but I woke up…thank you—”

Stiles then gently released each of them as he let loose a pained whimper, slowly lying back down in Peter’s arms, cuddling close while his body continued to fight for air. “So, who told you about—” 

Stiles words were cut off by Peter sudden movement, in response to a smell, in the bed and lifting the blankets over Stiles while saying in an rush, “Derek…get help!”

Pulling down the thin hospital blanket revealed blood. Stiles was bleeding, a sticky red-yellow mixture of blood and pus seeping through his stitches, his abdomen looked like one massive bruise, a dark blue tinted black that made Peter’s stomach turn in horror. 

Noah hit the emergency alert button in the room while Peter leapt off the bed, trying to get Stiles’ bed to lie flat.

Stiles was turning blue again, spittle turning pink before a sharp cough brought blood to his lips.

A doctor and several nurses rushed into the room with Derek just a behind them. 

Derek stayed out of the way, pulling Peter back from Stiles even as he tried to brush him off to fight his way back toward the bed. Derek pulled his uncle to him, facing him and hugging Peter to keep his half-shift from showing.

Peter was starting to cry, now hugging Derek close. He wanted to bite Stiles, to save him, the man he…he could do it right now, in front of everyone, but Derek wouldn’t loosen the vice-like grip he had on him. Peter felt the desperate cries and howling of his wolf, unable to go to his alpha in a time of need.

Trembling in Derek’s arms as Stiles was rushed out of the room and back into emergency surgery, Peter said, “When he comes back, we’ll need the others. He needs his wolves…”

\---------------------------------------------------

Later that night across town…

Theo was in Deaton’s veterinary business’ back room, throwing a baseball repeatedly at the wall, rebounding back to him with a reverberating sound of brief impact, before throwing it again. He was killing time as he waited for more of his wounds to heal.

Scott burst into the back room, looking frustrated and bloody. 

Theo kept throwing the baseball. “You made it.”

Scott growled. He was clearly in no mood for Theo’s attitude. He moved to between the wall and Theo, catching the baseball before the beta could.

That got Theo’s attention. “Anyone else make it out?”

Scott growled, still holding the ball. He was shaking a bit in anger, “Kinda. Malia and Jackson fled. The others probably have Adrian.”

Theo nodded, “They lose anyone?”

Scott shrugged in false apathy. “Two, I think…maybe a couple more. Stiles didn’t look too good when I left.”

Theo shrugged. “Hmm…maybe we’ll be lucky and the little witch won’t make it.”

Scott growled, bordering on feral in tone as he crushed the baseball in his hand. “Don’t. That’s my brother and he’s no witch. He’s just sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.”

\---------------------------------------------------

Around 1am…

Stiles had been back from surgery for a few hours and the others had finally arrived. He had an IV and blood drip. Thankfully he was a universal recipient, so there was no shortage on blood for him. Stiles now had several more monitors on him than prior the bleeding incident and was now on oxygen to try to combat his breathing issues. The oxygen mask against Stiles’ pale skin set a dire tone in the room, as if they were all covered by a sound dampening shroud that threatened to signal the end.

Peter laid to Stiles’ one side, spooning the incredibly pale young man’s back to him. On Stiles’ other side on the bed was Boyd who was cuddling close against Stiles’ front. Both men held Stiles carefully close in such a way that reaffirmed they feared he would somehow leave without them. 

Boyd had moved Adrian to a new, safer location to keep him locked up and somewhere the Argents wouldn’t be able to find before showing up to the hospital.

Noah sat in a chair beside the hospital bed facingPeter’s back. With his head in his hands, Noah was drifting between sleeping and crying. The man was obviously not ready to lose his son, his only son. He was sure he never would be.

Deaton sat in a chair on the other side of the hospital bed, softly touching Boyd’s side. 

Deaton and the other wolves had been updated on what was going on with Stiles, Erica, and Issac.

Issac was in a coma, but had been moved into the empty bed that had occupied Stiles’ hospital room. Issac’s eyes moved beneath the lids, but he had yet to show any signs of waking. Erica was not in the ICU like Issac and Stiles. Rather she was in Stiles and Issac’s room in a chair by Issac. She was weak, exhausted, and still healing, but had managed to heal enough to dodge being checked in to the hospital. She was simply alternating between sleep and eating as her body worked to heal the Alpha-inflicted wounds all over her body. 

Derek had moved the two beds closer to one another, the closeness of their pack bond sure to speed the healing process, not to mention it provided for a more strategic defense if Scott or his pack showed up.

Lydia sat next to the Sheriff, between Stiles and Issac’s bed. She had managed to explain things to the man better than Peter had and smoothed over the situation, allowing Noah to focus more on his son and less on the confusion of the supernatural elements that had led them here. It was a weird place to be right this moment, but no one trusted that Scott would stay away.

Every twenty minutes or so, the nurses would come in to check on Stiles and Issac, taking notes based on what the censors read as well as checking IVs, which were replaced as needed. They also closely monitored Stiles’ agonizingly slow blood transfusion. 

Each time the nurses were in the room, Lydia exchanged text updates with Allison. As the newest text came and the nurses left, Lydia said, “Looks like there’s no need to clean up. When Allison and her Dad tried to go back and deal with bodies, they couldn’t find anything. It’s as if the clearing disappeared. I guess Stiles was right after all.”

Peter perked up at that, asking with a guarded expression, “What do you mean, right about the clearing?”

Lydia perked a brow at his question. After a moment or so of hesitation, she said, “Well, if Stiles is mad about this later, I’m telling him you’re responsible.”

Peter waved a hand dismissively at her words, wanting her to continue—he’d gladly deal with consequences from Stiles later. He was desperate, quite literally, for Stiles to be okay enough to provide said consequences.

Lydia sighed and then said, “That stump? You know, the off center one in the clearing? Stiles figured that it was a Nemeton, a powerful one at that, since it kept trying to enter his mind. Most Nemeton locations can’t do that, if any. It’s actually why Allison and I weren’t so sure, I mean, what if something else wanted into his mind?”

Peter sighed, not in exasperation or rebuke as they may have expected, then admitted aloud, “Most Nemeton locations can’t, especially if they’re old and neglected. However, if it were to receive sacrifices of one kind or another, it could amass enough power to do so. This one hasn’t received any sacrifices, But in this case, something was living under it.”

Lydia nodded, putting together to what he was referring. 

Derek’s brow lifted nearly to his hairline as Noah looked on quizzically.

Any other day, Noah would have yelled, demanded answers, but these last few days were beyond overwhelming to the man as it was.

Derek just let his brows relax, assuming it was nothing pressing since Peter seemed pretty relaxed about the whole thing.

“You going to explain, oh wise one?”

Peter looked to Stiles and softly stroked his cheek. “Because the thing living beneath the Nemeton is fighting to keep Stiles alive long enough for the Alpha spark I inherited from Ennis and gaveto him to do its work. It’s the only reason Stiles isn’t dead yet. It’s all that’s keeping him with us right now.”

Stunned, Lydia slumped down into her seat. She didn’t know Peter had an Alpha spark, let alone that he had given it to Stiles.

Noah then looked to Peter and asked the million-dollar question: “Does that mean he is going to make it?”

A tear slid down Peter’s cheek, afraid to answer, but hoping it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments & kudos are appreciated! They help feed my plot bunnies <3


	13. Enemies & Pack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hospital. A memory of death. Support. Scott's pack. Pack to pack conflict.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for minor medical gore.
> 
> Thank you so much to my betas! They help to make this all possible.

A day and a half later…

Some of the wolves, and others, were still in Stiles and Issac’s hospital room.

Noah hadn’t even gone home for a change of clothes since the 911 call about Stiles had come over the radio. His odor was strong, nearly overwhelming, but he could not bring himself to leave Stiles’ side and no one else was willing to bring it up. 

Part of why Noah could not leave was the reality that he still remembered finding out his wife had passed, racing to the hospital. He had been in too much denial, too much misguided belief that if he did not face the reality of his wife’s condition, her imminent demise then somehow everything would be okay. His race to the hospital had been mechanical. The weight of it all had not gotten to him truly until once he was at the hospital, until he saw his son.

Stiles had looked so incredibly small sitting in a chair just outside his wife’s hospital room. Noah had not been fast enough to say goodbye to his wife. He had not believed Stiles when the boy had brought up concerns about his mother making it another day on their ride in the morning to drop the boy off at the hospital. But seeing his small child sitting so quietly, so still outside the room his little body bent over on himself with his head in his hands? That punched the denial, even the will right out of Noah. He knew in that moment that he had left his own child alone to watch his mother die.

Noah had not been ready back then to face that his wife was going to die, let alone witness it. However, even with as ill prepared as he was for this, this moment of Stiles on the brink of death in the hospital, Noah refused to leave him alone again. Noah knew he would never forgive himself if Stiles faced death alone for a second time.

As a result, Noah in all his smelly glory was sitting in Stiles’ hospital room around the friends his son had chosen, which it included fairytale monsters apparently. In addition to the fantasy beasts in the room, a few of Noah’s officers had come by to see how Stiles and Noah were doing, many of them had watched Stiles grow up.

Despite not really wanting to leave his son, Noah had moved into the hallway, talking to the doctor in hushed tones about when, or if, Stiles was going to wake in hushed voices.

To date, only Lydia had changed clothes, trading her bloody rags from the preserve for an ivy green blouse with jeans and brown boots. Her hair was loose and beautifully wild even as she slept at Stiles’ bedside. She’d been up since the battle, hoping Stiles would wake soon rather than just lay there as he had been. 

Deaton was long gone, needing to sort out his business and other things that should have his attention. The man had seemed truly disturbed the more he remembered of his time with the witches.

Peter was still curled up to Stiles, hand draped lightly over Stiles’ bandaged surgery stitches. Black veins ran up from where Peter was touching the boy up the arm and vanishing into Peter as he drained the boy’s pain. Overall, Peter was disheveled and sleeping like a brick.

Erica was still sleeping in a chair beside Issac’s bed, exhausted from the intense healing she was undergoing.

Issac remained still and unconscious in his hospital bed. He’d shown no signs of waking any time soon. 

Derek was standing near the door, still guarding them all in case Scott, Theo or both decided to try something here. He had to be tired, but his brows were furrowed in a dangerous level of intent.

Boyd had left twenty minutes before to go and grab some food for everyone and check on Adrian.

\---------------------------------------------------

Derek was getting more tired. He felt like he was too tired for what he had been through. Exhaustion from healing was perfectly normal. However, he could not shake the feeling that something was wrong, almost like inside his severed arm was itching. It wasn’t the normal itch of healing he’s experienced before.

Having kept his concerns to himself for a while, Derek could not tamp down the feeling anymore while Noah was outside with the doctor. He stepped deeper into the room as he began peeling off the bandaging on his arm just to double check that things were okay. He did not expect his arm to be fully healed—it was a wound from an Alpha after all. While he was now an Alpha too, Derek just assumed that having not been an Alpha when receiving the wound that things would take some time to heal.

When he took the last of the bandaging off his arm, Derek was horrified to see puss oozing out from around his stitches that had been re-done at the hospital. The puss was so copious in amount that it began running down his arm now that the bandaging was no longer absorbing it.

Derek did not even consider why he’d not smelled the rotting scent of infection before, but rather whined from deep in his throat as one might expect from a scared pup.

His whine woke Erica and Peter.

Erica was slow to rise in her muddled way, but she did manage to stand without assist to move toward him.

Peter was faster. Managing to get up without jostling Stiles much if at all, Peter in mere seconds was within inches of Derek, checking on what caused the whining. Upon seeing what was wrong, Peter barely suppressed a growl. Instead of growling, he ordered Erica, “Hit the emergency call button!”

Slow but with it enough to hit the button, Erica had to sit down right where she was on the ground after hitting the emergency call button.

Likely thinking it was Stiles or Issac in dire need, a few nurses and an additional doctor, plus the doctor who had been speaking with Noah were in the room and checking on what was happening.

Feeling truly out of his depth, Derek was a few steps beyond scared. Werewolves didn’t get sick. They didn’t get infections. They were sturdy. Without fully comprehending what was happening, Derek found himself on a gurney being rushed from the room lost in a mix of fear and lack of comprehension. 

\---------------------------------------------------

Inside Stiles’ mind…

Everything was so normal. Stiles was standing in his bedroom, research papers and books strewn across any available surface. Things were exactly as he remembered them being, setting him at ease. Stiles ran his hand along the edge of his desk before he sat on his unmade bed. His hands idle at his sides, Stiles could not shake the feeling that he was waiting for something or someone; everything suddenly felt off.

He was tempted to stand and roam around the room, pacing to sate his impatience as his mind struggled to grasp what was out of place. Instead of getting up, Stiles took a deep breath, counting on his fingers. Stiles vaguely remembered something about not being able to count if you were dreaming. Counting was also a way he had trained himself to break from an anxiety attack, so this could be a win-win. 1, 2, 3, 4…once he hit ten, Stiles let loose a sigh. Nothing had changed, but Stiles now felt confident that he had at least eliminated one option.

Lifting his hands and looking at his palms, Stiles thought back to when he was last in his room. 

‘Oh yeah,’ he thought to himself, ‘I was in here…but not alone. I was here with Lydia. Yes, Lydia. We were here and then she slipped into a trance. Yes, and we went into the—'

Cutting his own thought off, he looked around himself, “But wait…how did I get back here? I…and we were in the preserve. Then the fight. The pain is gone—am I dead?”

“Tsk, tsk,” something inside the room said in a husky, smoker’s cough of a voice, deep and guttural, but somehow familiar all the same.

Stiles looked around, trying to see where the strange voice had come from. He was alone in the room, or so he thought, so whose voice was that? It took only a second before Stiles saw that his desk chair was now turned toward him. Upon the chair was a shadowy shape of a fox; a dark figure that looked as though it was made by the absence of all things, a living void.

The fox then spoke: “Do you want to live?”

Stiles furrowed his brows, “Like that’s a real question. Who are you?...what are you?”

The void fox grinned, showing a ghastly array of teeth that would have been more at home on a shark than any fox Stiles had ever seen. “You already know me.”

Stile just stared for a moment, then heard a low growl like that of a wolf. 

To the left of Stiles was a wolf laid out on the floor. The wolf was mostly black with sparse hints of gray. The wolf was as real to Stiles as the fox, but beyond the colors of his fur, the wolf looked almost ghost like. When the animal lifted its head, Stiles saw the intensity of its Alpha-red eyes.

Making eye contact, the wolf stood, coming closer to him. The wolf moved to sit next to Stiles’, huffing out a sigh and laying his head on top of Stiles’ left upper thigh. 

Stiles looked down and into the wolf’s red eyes. He spoke in soft tones to the wolf, as if he was afraid the Alpha would be scared off, “I think I am going to call you red eyes—that okay?”

The wolf did not seem too displeased, even going as far as to nuzzle a bit into Stiles’ stomach.

In response to the friendly impression, Stiles asked, “May I see you flash you other eye color?”

The wolf looked to him, hesitant. However, after a moment or so of unrelenting eye contact, the wolf flashed its eyes blue.

Stiles did not change his tone toward the wolf. Instead, he whispered softly, “It’s okay. Even good people get blue eyes. That goes for wolves too. I won’t judge.”

Stiles very carefully pet the head of the wolf, then looked over to the fox once he felt that the wolf was solid and not currently a threat. “Are you friendly?” he asked the fox, raising a brow.

The fox chuffed out a laugh before responding. “Not sure I’m that friendly,” motioning to the wolf, “but I can be friendly. However, one must choose their friends carefully and remember to never try to fool a fox, never trick a trickster. It does not end well.”

The fox continued, “But truly, is the dark evil? Is death evil? Are natural disasters evil? The greater maw of the void—is it evil?”

It was Stiles’ turn to roll his eyes at the fox. He kept petting the wolf, for some inexplicable reason, Stiles felt stronger when he was touching the Alpha. It was almost like it was his hidden trick up his sleeve, a card that could overpower the other somehow. Then, he finally responded with a sigh, “Those things are not necessarily evil, but they can be. To trick a fox? Think I’m gonna try to trick you? I do want to live, but I won’t betray others to do it. I know everything has a price, but I reserve the right to refuse it and the help it may bring.”

\---------------------------------------------------

At Deaton’s Vet Clinic…

In jeans, a white t-shirt, sneakers, and a green wind breaker, Scott burst in the backdoor of the back office, expecting Deaton to be there. Scott needed guidance (praise) on what to do about Stiles as well as Derek’s pack; however, the office was empty, devoid of an audience for the wolf. Sighing, the wolf boy headed into the treatment area of the clinic.

In the treatment portion of the clinic was empty as well. Scott growled to himself, frustrated with having to really look for the druid. Regardless, he checked the front area, which also was empty. Lastly, Scott checked where overnight animal were kept.

In the kennel portion of the clinic, Deaton was found with a pen and clipboard. He was taking notes on the animals that were there that he didn’t know much about as well as those who were gone but had been there when he was fully human.

Scott approached with a: “Finally! I was looking all over for you!”

Deaton looked briefly to Scott before returning physically to what he had been doing as he said, “I see. What can I do for you Scott?”

Nodding in response to feeling at least somewhat heard, Scott explained, “So, I know you weren’t you, but fake you and I were working on building a better, stronger pack than Derek’s. We are morally better. My being a true alpha already proved that, but I want to make sure the pack gets stronger physically. Derek and his beat us in the preserve and tricked Stiles into helping them. I want to be able to prevent that.”

Deaton nodded, asking, “And what would that look like to you?”

Scott screwed up his face a bit, completely missing the irony of his moral high ground feelings despite really bonding with a liar wearing Deaton’s face. He then said, “well, the person who was posing as you really encouraged my turning more people. They even did some magical whatever to figure out who I needed to turn and or rescue. Can’t you do the same thing?”

Deaton very carefully did not turn to face Scott, hiding the minor reaction he could not keep off his face at how astray Scott had gone without proper guidance. Deaton worked to keep taking notes, saying, “well, we will have to wait for that. I need to catch up on things that happened in the clinic while I was gone. Besides, doesn’t your pack need time to heal? How many do you have right now?”

\---------------------------------------------------

Thirty minutes later…

Peter, still wrapped around Stiles, was gently touching and mapping the beauty marks of his right arm, almost like he was trying to commit them to memory. At the same time, he whispered too quietly for anyone to understand, voice catching as he pleaded in Stiles’ ear, reminding him that he needed to live.

In fresh clothes—jeans, black t-shirt, and sneakers—Boyd walked into the hospital room holding several bags of take out for breakfast. 

Also, in fresh clothes—khaki shorts, a lacrosse jersey, and brown hiking boots—Adrian was behind the wolf with his head down, helping to carry the two full drink holders from the local coffee shop.

Lydia was awake and gave Adrian and Boyd some side eye upon their entry. “I thought someone was in timeout, Boyd?”

Boyd shrugged. He set down the bags of food on Issac’s bedside table, then opened one of the bags of food. He began to take things out, passing food around to those who were awake.

Adrian followed Boyd’s lead by setting the drink holders down on Stiles’ bedside table before handing out the drinks, keeping his eyes averted.

When Adrian moved to pass Peter a coffee, Stiles stirred, mumbling quietly with his eyes still closed, “Is that coffee I smell or am I dreaming?”

Peter, in response to Stiles’ words, flashed his eyes in warning at Adrian.

Seeing the flashed eyes reflected on the floor, Adrian backed off. He got the message.

Peter softly stroked Stiles’ face. “Mhmm, Bambi. But only if you’re here to stay.”

Stiles rolled over and snuggled in close to Peter, whispering softly, “The kitsune is in me…but why is there a wolf too?”

Peter nuzzled against Stiles, a wry smile on his lips as a silent, thankful tear made its way down his cheek. “The alpha spark came with a wolf desperate to live. I gave you both.”

Stiles pressed his face against Peter’s chest, “Does that mean I’m a werewolf?”

Peter rumbled softly, saying, “No. The wolf is dead, but his ghost is within you. He is the Alpha-spark.”

“Ohhh…” Stiles answered. Slowly opening his eyes, he said unironically, “That makes sense.”

Stiles looked to where Peter had his arm, hand subtly slipped under his shirt with deep, almost pulsing black veins worked to strip Stiles’ pain. “Thank you.”

Noah had been watching the whole time. The moment Stiles’ eyes opened, he was overwhelmed with relief, tears rushed unbidden down his face as he moved to the side of Stiles’ hospital bed, pulling his son up into a crushing hug.

Although he remained silent at first, Stiles had to carefully pull himself from his Dad’s grip, “Hurts.”

Noah let his son go gently and then wiped his own eyes and nose with the sleeve of his uniform.

Boyd and Lydia moved closer to Stiles’ bed. 

Lydia, now on Peter’s side of the hospital bed, reached over to thread her fingers through Stiles,’ giving his hand a gentle squeeze. While she had tears in her eyes, Lydia looked incredibly relieved to see him awake and cognizant so far. 

Boyd gently gave Stiles’ calf a squeeze of support as he said, “Glad I grabbed your usual.”

With Peter and Noah’s help, Stiles got himself sat up without detaching any of his monitors or tubes. He then made “gimme” hands at Boyd.

With a chuckle, Boyd gave Stiles his normal coffee order of an extra sweet Carmel sauce Americano with four sugar packets stirred in.

Stiles accepted it from Boyd gladly, murmuring many thanks as he took his first sip of wake-up juice. At the sweet taste of caramel and jolt of caffeine, Stiles outright moaned in pleasure with his eyes falling shut. After a second of just enjoying the drink, he slid his eyes back open, “Thank you, Boyd. You always know how to make it extra sweet without going overboard.”

Boyd chuckled, shaking his head before returning to passing out the food while Adrian finished handing out drinks.

After accepting and having a drink of her own snickerdoodle hot chocolate, Lydia said firmly while staring Stiles down—“Don’t you EVER do that to any of us, especially me, again. Got it?”

Stiles smiled affectionately at them all and then let his sights settle of the feisty red head, “As you wish, my goddess.”

Erica was asleep at Issac’s bedside.

Boyd then tried to hand Stiles a breakfast sandwich.

Stiles then held up his hand, saying, “No, thank you. Too much gore is still fresh on my mind. I probably shouldn’t eat for a couple hours or decades. Just to be safe.”

Boyd nodded in understanding, taking a huge bite out of his egg and English muffin sandwich with triple meat.

Wiping at his own tears and neglecting his black coffee and breakfast sandwich, Noah took a shaky breath before asking, “What did you mean about a wolf inside you? And what is a kitsune?”

Just then there was a knock on the hospital room door. Stiles looked to the door, expecting hospital staff or maybe Deaton. However, he was wrong.

At the door was none other than Theo. Wearing denim jeans, an olive t-shirt with a black button down over it, and dark-colored sneakers, the wolf grinned with a bit too much teeth. “Good to see you made it.”

Theo walked into the room like it was perfectly natural for him to both be there and even be welcome.

Stiles’ brows furrowed. His expression was akin to being like he smelled something foul.

Peter was more alert, keeping himself in position to defend any and everyone should things turn violent. He flashed his killer-blue eyes as if seeking to both warn Theo off and goad him to violence.

The Sheriff looked to Theo and then Stiles before undoing the clip on his service firearm. He kept his eyes focused on Theo now that it was apparent the boy was a threat.

Theo continued as if he was perfectly welcome. “Hmm…seems you’re short a few people. Anyone die?”

Stiles growled deeply enough to pass for a wolf before speaking, “What are you doing here Theo?”

“What? Not going to welcome an old friend?”

“Not when the assumed friend helped attack me and my friends.”

Theo chuckled lightly, “I didn’t attack you at all. And are you sure these are your friends? I mean, look at you. You’ve seen better days. I thought friends would help you, not get you hurt?”

Peter growled aggressively while Lydia stared daggers into Theo.

Stiles shook his head—“Idiot.”

Theo’s grin turned menacing. “Hmmm…that would make two. I suspect the same moment made us both. I mean, we all take violence in our own—”

“Shut up!” Stiles yelled while his whole face was red with anger. “Don’t you dare claim that as what made me. I made me. Get the FUCK out of here! You are no friend—never have been. Get out!”

Theo chuckled, seeking carnage. “What? Afraid to share? If they’re your friends, shouldn’t they know? I mean, it could be important. What me to rip that Band-Aid off for you?”

Stiles growled again. “Get out or you will be thrown the fuck out!”

Smiling in near glee at the flustered and angry expression on Stiles’ face, Theo shrugged and left. His chaos done for the moment.

\---------------------------------------------------

A hour or so later…

Derek walked into Stiles’ room short one arm. He was pale, looking wrecked, but was his usual sourwolf in terms of facial expression but with an angry looking brow signal in effect.

Stiles was laid out on his bed being cuddled by Peter who looked like he was not intending any kind of separation for a long time. 

The Sheriff was no longer there, having left to finally take a shower and get some fresh clothes after Stiles had promised over and over that it was okay.

Lydia figured the Sheriff leaving was good for him overall. It would give him time to process at least some of the many new truths that had been revealed and dumped in his lap over the last twenty-four or so hours. She mostly hoped he would not make things harder for Stiles when all was said and done. 

Boyd had left to put Adrian back in a mountain ash timeout since Peter kept being intensely problematic about having what he considered a hostile wolf around the wounded in the pack. 

Lydia set aside her now empty drink cup. While she had been slow to take in the sugary beverage, Lydia still felt it had done its job of refreshing her if only temporarily.

Looking to Derek, she asked, “What happened?”

Derek grit his teeth audibly before responding: “They’re not really sure. Neither am I.”

Lydia nodded. “The infection really bad?”

Derek stared at her intensely, the implication that such a statement was painfully obvious.

She sighed. “Anything you think could help you right now?”

Derek shook his head no. He then looked to Stiles sleeping. “He wake up?”

\---------------------------------------------------

Mid-afternoon…

Derek was in the hallway outside of Stiles’ room. He was standing about six feet from Stiles’ hospital room when Chris Argent showed up.

As the man tried to walk past him, Derek stepped into the man’s way. “What are you doing here?”

Argent took a moment before stating, “To talk.”

Rolling his eyes, Derek kept the path toward Stiles’ room blocked. “No.”

Argent looked Derek in the eyes. “I am not the enemy.”

Derek did not change what he was doing.

Stiles then called out from the room, “Let him in Derek. I’ll take care of it.”

Derek hesitated before moving to let Argent past while at no point turning his back on the hunter.

As Argent walked into Stiles and Issac’s room, Derek followed behind him at a safe distance.

Stiles struggled to sit up on the hospital bed, definitely not an imposing figure from that position.

Peter very carefully helped him up and moved to sit behind Stiles, holding him up to keep from putting too much pressure on his stitches. Peter also hooked one arm around his waist for support, gently running his other hand soothingly up and down Stiles’ side.

Derek moved around, not once turning his back on Argent, to be positioned closer to Stiles’ bed. He was set just right to defend Stiles and or Issac when needed. He was also staring down Argent with hypervigilance. 

Chris Argent and Derek Hale were both in the same clothes as before and scowling intensely. Chris stood pivoted near the door. Chris also was positioned to defend or attack, depending on the situation, careful to be extra vigilant to the care of the non-humans in the room especially. 

Moving his position some, Derek leaned against the wall between Stiles and Issac, the window tight to his side as he tried to distance himself as far from Argent as possible.

Lydia had left earlier in the day to touch base with Allison and pick up some fresh clothes for most of the others. Erica had moved after Derek had been rushed out on the gurney to lay with Issac on his hospital bed. The curtain between Stiles’ area and Issac’s had been pulled out to provide a sort of vague privacy for those sleeping.

Boyd was between Argent and Derek while to the side so everyone had line of sight on the others.

Stiles then updated Chris (bare minimum of information) on what had happened in the oressure. Stiles continued updating Chris on some of what had happened in the clearing up to when he finally arrived—“Yes, it was a group of witches doing the animal attacks in town.”

Stiles made finger hyphens when he said animal attacks and added, “I didn’t consider it any of your business, so I didn’t tell you.”

Chris looked like he was holding in an insult or a growl or both at once. “You shouldn’t have been involved at all. You could’ve just said something and left it alone after that.”

Stiles rolled his eyes hard, saying, “Yeah, ‘cause I’m a rush to trust the man whose basement I was beaten bloody in. Get real. Feel lucky I’ve explained anything, let alone let you near anyone in this room.”

Midway through Stiles’ words, Noah returned in a clean uniform smelling shower fresh. He perked a brow at the situation before coming fully into the room. As he moved to stand beside Stiles’ bed on the side toward Derek, Noah gave Peter a brief dirty look even as he listened and tried to wrap his mind around everything he was witnessing. Recognizing the air of conflict, Noah rested his hand on his service pistol. 

The moment Stiles mentioned the basement, Noah went from Sheriff to father, tapping warningly on his service weapon that was still in its holster. 

At the mention of Stiles’ torture, Chris had the good nature to look away in guilt. After what looked like an inner rallying, Chris said, “I was not involved in that, as y—”

Stiles shook his head hard. “Fuck that shit. You didn’t have to know. You just stood by while Gerard brutalized innocent people and wolves. You can play it like a pacifist if you want, but we both know you treat wolves as guilty until proven innocent a lot more of the time since Daddy-dearest came to town. You probably weren’t even an angel before that. Only seems fair to paint you the same. You let him twist up your daughter to the point of attacking and even trying to murder her peers and innocent wolves. You let your sister abuse a kid! You have NO room for anyone to even pretend to give you the benefit of any doubt. Hell, there is no doubt.”

Chris flinched a time or two at Stiles’ words, but then said with much less fight, “I didn’t know about Kate.”

Derek growled ferally. 

Stiles scoffed, “Didn’t know? Or didn’t want to know? You knew something was up. You knew your father was twisted and that she’d been infected too. You’d put a wolf down for less. Where were you for all of the innocents who’ve died? Where were you for anyone? Fuck, you even let Ally believe that Derek killed her Mom! That was such bullshit!”

Chris sighed, “I’m not what you think. Have I made mistakes? Yes, but who here hasn’t? Who here has always been perfect?”

Peter smirked, raising his hand.

Chris looked ready to rip the wolf’s head off.

However, before he could do much of anything, Stiles rolled his eyes, saying one word to Peter: “Scott.”

Peter played like he was shocked in a quite hyperbolic way.

Returning his focus to Chris Argent, Stiles scoffed. “Not perfect? Not fucking perfect. Are you kidding me? Ya. No one is perfect, but out of everyone here, who has the most innocent blood on their hands? It’s not a wolf. It’s not a banshee. It’s not a police officer. It’s YOU. Your whole family is batshit crazy!”

Lydia cleared her throat pointedly.

Stiles took on a sheepish look. “Sorry, your whole family except for Allison.”

Argent then said, “Look, I can’t demand things be done about what has already happened, but in the future, it’s safer for you to stay out this kind of stuff and away from the supernatural at all. It’d be safer.”

Stiles then growled, catching Noah and Argent off guard. “No. No, you do not get to even get close to threatening me or being fatherly—”

Chris tried to intervene, “That’s not wh—”

“No,” Stiles said. “You will not interrupt me. In this shit? In the supernatural? You know what, we can all thank Gerard for that. He’s the monster that made Kate and you. One way or another, Gerard is the reason every one of us is here right now. There is no room for anyone to argue that. It would just be lies and denial and that’s a fucking waste. I do not have to be held accountable to you or any of your murdering co-workers. It’s fucking bullshit that you all call yourself hunters, considering yourself morally right when at least ninety percent of you are just serial killers and all of you think only humans are okay when they aren’t getting in your way that is. You’re different? You? Prove it. You want my trust? You want me to let you in on what’s going on? Earn it, cause right now you aren’t worth the cheap worn leather you are printed on.”

Noah consistently looked like he wanted to say so many things but did not actually intervene until then. He stood and looked to Argent, “Okay, that’s enough fighting for everyone. Stiles needs to get some rest and you need to leave.”

Chris looked at the wolves while saying to Noah, “Maybe you’d want me to make sure they—”

Noah cut him off with a hand still suggestively on his weapon holster, “I’ve got it under control.”

Chris looked like he wanted to fight it, but one look at Noah had him sighing in frustration while backing down and turning to leave for the time being.

Once Argent was gone, Stiles did a punch into the air in victory before whimpering in pain.

Peter gently brought Stiles’ arm down, saying, “Maybe wait for more to heal before anymore victory punches.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “I’m gonna be fine.”

Noah sighed, “Hate to break it to you, kid, but you had two major surgeries; a damaged a lung and a kidney as well as lost your gallbladder along with plenty of blood—take it easy. Get some rest.”

Then looking around to the others, Noah suggested, “And maybe the rest of you should get sleep too.”

Lydia smiled, saying, “We’ll handle all victory celebrations for you if needed, but for the moment, let’s get you better before any of that, okay?”

Stiles nodded slowly, snuggling back into his back support: Peter. Stiles let loose a huge, open mouth yawn. He knew things were different, but Stiles was not entirely sure exactly how. Instead of freaking out one way or the other, Stiles just asked, “Okay, so what next?”

Lydia smiled. “Well, I’m going to go check in with Allison. Wanted to see with my own eyes how she’s doing.”

\---------------------------------------------------

A few hours later at the hospital…

Stiles was petting Peter’s chest while still curled close to the older man. Still weak but no longer receiving an infusion of blood, Stiles had even eaten some. The coffee as well as having people close helped not only with his level of tenderness but also played a grounding role.

The kitsune was back in Peter as it was intended to be. Externally, Peter was cuddled to and cherishing Stiles in his own way. Internally, Peter was letting the kitsune have free run through all of his memories regardless of content. The wolf figured that if this was going to work with the kitsune, they each had to be willing to open up. Peter leaned forward to kiss Stiles on the tip of the nose.

While he couldn’t really laugh nor did he have much to say, Stiles still blushed. He nuzzled Peter’s chest showing affection and hiding his blush.

The sheriff had left at least a half hour before. Noah had wanted to check in with his officers about the “animal attacks” they’d been dealing with.

Lydia was already back. She was much calmer overall while also grateful that she had not needed to give a death cry for her friend. At the same time as she was hanging out in the hospital room with Stiles and the wolves, Lydia texted with Allison who intended to come by after dinner with her Dad.

Boyd had returned to take Erica home, Erica’d wanted fresh cloths and a shower. Boyd was mostly along to keep her safe while they all knew Scott and his were out there. 

Derek had finally eased up his brows of doom and intimidation enough to fall into a nap on the chair next to Stiles’ bed. He wasn’t truly relaxed but still getting some much-needed rest as healing without rest was murder on the body.

Issac remained in a coma with no signs of getting better, even with the pack here for him and Stiles.

While everyone in Issac and Stiles’ room was resting in one form of another, Scott came through the door, saying, “Hey, Stiles!”

However, upon Scott seeing what he considered Derek’s pack there, the true alpha growled in frustration.

At Scott’s initial words, Derek shot up to standing as if he had not just been napping. He moved his position from the chair beside Stiles to being about a foot from defending either of the wounded as needed.

Peter also was quick to move while making sure to not hurt and or rip tubes out of Stiles. Peter stood in front of Stiles’ bed his time while blocking the true alpha’s view of the wounded alpha. Peter considered Scott far more of a risk than Theo had been as he was an Alpha.

Lydia did not stand up, but rather shifted from texting Allison to dialing the Sheriff’s personal cell number she had gotten off of Stiles’ phone once upon a time. Lydia figured they may need official support to keep the true alpha from starting trouble.

While Lydia was shifting her phone actions, Derek got her up and moved closer to Stiles further from the true alpha.

Scott growled in frustration again at the actions he was witnessing, saying, “Stiles? Stiles?! I came to visit and check on you…figured I could explain what all was going on back at the preserve. Figured Peter and Derek had been lying to you to get you on their si—”

Peter growled, low and menacing. “Leave while you can still walk.”

Scot growled again at the threat, looking to Derek. “Has it really come to this?”

Stiles barely refrained from rolling his eyes at Scott’s words. Normally, he would not really consider Scott a threaten. However, after things in the preserve with the witches, Stiles knew not to brush off the risk the young alpha posed.

Starting to advance toward Scott, Derek growled intimidatingly with alpha strength behind it. “Maybe we should teach him what used to be done to those who betrayed their pack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos keep my plot bunnies going <3


	14. Safety & Violence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pack. Conflict. Information. Allegiances. Comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for violence.

Scott puffed up his chest as his eyes flashed red. The young wolf clenched his fists. “As if you know anything about tradition, Derek. Stiles, is he threatening you? Is that why he’s here?”

Before anyone else could speak, Peter growled low and deeper than any wolf those in the room had ever heard.

Derek looked to Peter hesitantly, as if questioning what he had heard.

Peter reached one hand behind himself to give Stiles’ leg a brief squeeze. He then spoke with many-voices-in-one, carrying an eerily threatening calm, but quiet voice. “Leave. Or I will kill you right here, right now.”

Scott puffed himself up more, as if looking bigger would intimidate the older wolves. 

After a sigh, Stiles subtly slid his hand up Peter’s shirt on his back. “Scott, just go. No, no one is threatening me. Just go.”

After an indignant dismissive grunt, Scott kept his eyes flashing. “No, Stiles. I know this isn’t you. We’re brothers. We’re always together—we’re…we always have each other’s back.”

Stiles could see that just past Scott, his father was approaching the room. He rolled his shoulders before saying, “Knock it off with the eyes. Dad’s coming. He doesn’t know, remember?”

Scott deflated immediately, his eyes returning to their normal, human hue.

Both Peter and Derek knew better, but if that’s how Stiles wanted to play this, they would go along with it. They dropped all outward aggression, hiding their overt supernatural qualities.

Noah stepped into the room. He had been close enough to hear Stiles’ not-so-quiet declaration. Taking the hint, he moved to sit beside his son as if everything was normal.

Stiles then said, “Hey Daddio. They see any sign of where the animal that attacked me went?”

Following his son’s lead, Noah ran a hand over his hair. “No, unfortunately the officers and animals in the preserve muddied it all up too much.”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah. Well, I’m tired. I’m gonna get some rest to help me heal up since Scott was just leaving, right?”

Caught off guard, Scott nodded dumbly. The young wolf then looked at the two Hales. “I’ll be back. I’m always around to make sure my brother is safe.”

\---------------------------------------------------

A few days after Stiles is released from the hospital…

Wearing black sweats, old socks, and an over-sized Iron Man graphic t-shirt, Stiles laid on the couch in his living room. His arms pillowed his head on Peter’s lap while his legs were sprawled out. Stiles was watching a documentary on arctic foxes to occupy his time and keep himself still in order to ease the strain on his suture’s.

Peter was reading over Stiles’ head. At the same time, Peter had a hand slid a bit up the back of Stiles’ shirt, drawing more of the pain out.

The kitsune was napping within Peter, having been previously exploring Peter’s memories more. However, now full of new experiences, the dark kitsune was sated temporarily.

Suddenly, the three’s quiet peace was broken as Lydia, Allison, and Erica burst into Stiles’ home through the front door.

Lydia, with her red hair loose and flowing, moved to Stiles’ legs, sitting beside the couch at that end. She was wearing crisp dark denim jeans, tan suede ankle boots, and a violet button down, short-sleeved shirt. Her green messenger bag sat on her shoulder, which she promptly shook off. Lydia opened it up to take out a notebook and a couple of gel pens in a range of colors. 

Allison giggled at the seriousness in which Lydia tried to arrange herself contrasted with the very bright and silly colorfulness of the pens, then moved to sit by her girlfriend. Ally wore faded jeans, a green t-shirt, and dark-colored hiking boots, her hair up in a bun held together with a pencil. She leaned her head on Lydia’s shoulder saying, “Hmmm…Thank you for helping me sneak out of the house.”

Erica bypassed the couch, heading into the kitchen.

Stiles watched her before releasing a sigh. He then, with Peter’s help, sat up, dropping his legs off the couch to make more room. He stretched out his arms, even popping his fingers to release some of the tension of having been in the same position for too long. 

Meanwhile, Peter set aside his book and turned off the TV. He seemed to expect this to take a hot minute at the very least.

Erica then jumped over the back of the couch to land sitting beside Stiles with a grin. She was wearing red lipstick, black leather pants, a ponytail, black knee-high boots, and an incredibly tight black tank top. She also had hold of a snack-sized bag of potato chips. “So, going to let us in on what you’re up to?”

Lydia, notebook open to a fresh page with an uncapped medium blue gel pen, looked to Stiles, “Erica’s got a point. Plus, we’re not exactly swimming in good news.”

Stiles huffed, “Not true, really. We have some awesome news.”

Lydia perked a brow, motioning for him to continue.

Wiggling a bit to get more comfortable between Erica, who was sitting sideways on the couch to face him, and Peter, who was still facing forward, Stiles positioned himself to be leaning against Peter and facing all three girls at an angle. “What? We have Deaton in position to keep an eye on Scott’s pack. We’ve got Erica and Boyd to watch Derek’s pack. I mean, seriously, I think we got this. We’ve got great information flow and most of them have no clue I’m an Alpha. I think we’re in a good position.”

Allison chimed in, saying, “Well, that isn’t a bad position in a town with four different packs. Has Derek heard anymore from the Alpha Pack?”

Erica shook her head, “No. He’s been watching though, especially with the Alphas, Kala and Ennis, working for the witches…I guess, not technically, they weren’t necessarily willing. Even with that going on, I guess he’s trying hard to keep us together while integrating Scott’s ex-beta, Adrian. I think he’s expecting a lot of fighting on its way in the near future.”

Peter chuffed some at the mention of Scott.

Stiles nodded, “So Derek is taking the kid in? That’s good. Any word on Jackson?’

Erica shrugged as she said, “He’s been sniffing around for sure. Hard to say if the idiot will get over himself to submit to Derek or not. Do know he’s pissed at Scott still. Well, both those ex-betas are.”

Peter asked, “Anyone heard from the girl the witches were trying to sacrifice?”

That got Stiles’ attention, “Good point. I’m going to ask Deaton what he can learn about her from Scott. We don’t need any more surprises. I think that should probably be a good thing to get ahead on overall.”

Allision sighed, saying quietly, “Well, a few arrows seems to have deterred Scott. He’s stopped stalking me. Then again, I haven’t seen him since the throw down with the witches.”

Stiles sighed again, “Yeah. I haven’t seen him since he visited me in the hospital the one time. I guess Melissa is asking questions about me, wanting to make sure I’m okay. So far, Scott doesn’t seem inclined to be involved with me further, but there’re no promises it’ll last. Though, I will admit, Melissa’s smart. She’s probably going to figure out that something’s going on between us. Hell, she might even uncover the supernatural thing like I did.”

Lydia had been taking notes, but paused to ask, “Okay, what specifically is the goal? Or, more exactly, what are your intentions now that you have an Alpha spark?”

After carefully adjusting himself a bit, Stiles said, “Information gathering is the start. Part of being a pack is protecting the territory you consider yours. I consider Beacon Hills our territory—everywhere my Dad has jurisdiction, essentially. In that vein, I want to keep quiet what we do and that we have. or are developing, resources as we continue gathering intelligence.”

Peter then said, “Not going to tell them how long your Dad says your grounded?”

\---------------------------------------------------

In the preserve…

Derek stood perfectly still, eyes closed, and hand in his pocket.

Standing around him, their eyes also closed, were Boyd and Adrian. 

Boyd wore dark green khaki shorts, tube socks, sneakers, and a medium blue t-shirt.

Adrian wore denim jeans, sneakers, and a black t-shirt under an open button up red shirt.

Derek then said, “Breathe in the smells around you. It’s important to know the smells of the places you frequent. That way, when the scent is off or in some way different, you’ll be alert to it as second nature.”

Adrian opened his eyes. “Um, does that really work? I ask ‘cause Scott taught us nothing like that. He said being a wolf was about honor and that kind of thing. Not knowing smells.”

Derek sighed and opened his eyes, taking his hand from his pocket while grumbling under his breath sarcastically—“Shocker.”

Boyd opened his own eyes since they were obviously taking a break from Derek’s exercise.

Since he and Erica had left and then returned to the pack, Boyd noticed Derek was trying to do more, be more present and supportive. He seemed to be grasping at straws a bit to keep the group together as well as teach them what he could. Boyd just hoped that his Alpha was ready. While he was not banking on violence necessarily, Boyd knew that having so many packs in one small town was not a recipe for smooth operation. He also knew that even though Stiles was new to this he was loyal and a quick learner.

Derek said, “Well, being a wolf has nothing to do with honor in the way Scott may have meant. We are flawed, but we’re also not monsters. Scott doesn’t really know anything. He fights his own wolf.”

Adrian nodded, asking, “Okay, so we’re not monsters. And fights his wolf? What does that mean?”

“We’re wolves. We’re human. Scott really doesn’t like being like us. He views the bite as a burden rather than a gift.”

Adrian looked like he was about to ask more, but didn’t get the chance.

Derek then began peeling his clothes off. Once naked, he shifted and took off in a run.

Adrian looked at a loss, looking to Boyd questioningly.

Boyd shrugged and tugged off his clothes before shifting and following Derek.

Soon, Adrian was catching up to them, running hard over the undergrowth of the preserve.

Derek kept them out and running, covering the boundaries of the preserve as well as around the old burned out husk of the Hale house for hours. He acted like he could almost run out the need to talk or answer questions.

However, upon his second lap, Derek stopped dead in front of Hale House.

In dark jeans, light-colored tennis shoes, and a white t-shirt with some stains on it, Scott was sitting on the front steps. Looking like he didn’t have a single care in the world, he failed to look at or acknowledge Derek’s presence.

Adrian and Boyd both came to a stop beside Derek.

Derek growled. “What are you doing here?”

Scott grinned, eyes flashing red as he stood and stared at Derek. “Stay away from my brother. You’re not welcome.”

He shifted his attention to Adrian. “And you? Decide to join up with the enemy?”

Adrian growled, following Derek’s lead. “You were going to sacrifice us!”

Scott outright laughed. “Wow, you are dumb. You weren’t going to die. No one was actually getting sacrificed.”

Adrian’s eyes got big. “Are you serious? They were going to kill us all. You were going to let them kill your pack! You’re a monster!”

Scott growled, sounding feral. “You don’t understand, you—”

As Scott was speaking, Theo jumped from out of nowhere and onto Adrian claws first.

Boyd did not hesitate as he ripped Theo off the younger wolf. Once he had Theo dislodged, Boyd spoke. “Okay, Adr—”

Scott charge Boyd. He only got a quick slice in as Derek intervened with a viciously deep cut to his thigh.

Boyd rolled with the cut to spin out and meet Theo’s second attempt at Adrian. He got a good punch into Theo’s arm, a resounding CRACK resulting from the impact.

Theo took to the hit to get close and tear both his claws down Boyd’s chest.

Derek grappled a moment with Scott before throwing the young wolf hard into Theo. He growled deeply before letting loose a full-throated howl.

Scott got quickly to his feet, but Adrian had already closed the distance between them, punching the alpha hard enough to break a human jaw.

Scott lashed out with claws and teeth, raking one claw across Adrian’s face while digging the other into the boy’s left hip while biting a good chunk out of his side. 

Derek’s fist came down hard on Scott’s skull in an attempt to rip himself loose. He immediately side kicked Theo who was trying to get the drop on him. 

Suddenly, Boyd was there and kicked Theo hard enough to send the beta rolling.

Adrian dropped to his knees before throwing himself at Theo, digging both his hands claw deep into Theo’s face and ripping down.

Scott threw Adrian aside, the sound of his head cracking loudly against a tree.

Derek growled as Scott and Boyd rose both back to their feet, ready for more. “So much for loyalty. Already willing to kill your ex-beta?”

Scott growled and charged Derek again.

The older wolf slammed his claws down Scott’s side even as the younger wolf did the same to him.

Boyd claws embedded into Scott’s back, digging deep and rending the flesh.

It only took a moment for Scott to rip his claws free from Derek and skitter away from both wolves.

Everyone was bleeding profusely, evenly matched as they were.

Theo, both eyes still healing from the attack to his face, stumbled up onto his feet to flee.

At the same time Scott attacked Boyd, aiming squarely for his ribs.

Boyd narrowly avoided the blow, dropping himself like a sack of potatoes to the ground and causing Scott to stumble over him in the process.

As Boyd got back on his feet, Derek growled low. “Time to end this.”

But, as luck would have it, Theo sprang out of nowhere, taking Derek by surprise. As the two wolves fell, Theo managed to get a couple of good claw swipes in.

Derek reached out, dragging his claws down Theo’s face and reopening the wounds on his face, drawing gobs of blood and flesh from his face.

Crumpling down to the ground beside Derek, Theo did not immediately work to rise to his feet.

As Boyd helped Derek up, Scott was pale. He stumbled backwards a bit at having his primary beta so seriously wounded in the swift turn of events.

Boyd and Derek both growled in warning.

Theo struggled back to his feet once more, limping blindly away as quickly as he could.

Scott took a moment more before he ran away, leaving his own beta behind to fend for himself in his poor state.

\---------------------------------------------------

Deaton’s back room as it’s getting dark…

Still in dark jeans, light-colored tennis shoes, a white t-shirt, and several bandages—all covered in blood—Scott was pacing the treatment area as he was still healing. With the amount of pacing he did, it was a wonder there wasn’t a path carved in the floor.

Theo, by contrast, was perfectly calm, sitting on the ground against a wall near the back door. Also covered in blood, he was healing much slower than the alpha, his face looking terribly deformed. In addition to the normal bandaging from a fight, the entirety of Theo’s face was bandaged to the point that he had to breathe through his mouth. 

Deaton stepped into the back room where he knew Scott was waiting for him once he was finished with his next client. The client’s dog had been fine, luckily, and only needed a prescription stool softener to help pass a child’s toy it had eaten. Finally, in the treatment room, he took in the sight before him and reminded himself of what Stiles had asked him to do at the hospital. After a deep breath, he made a hint of noise to make his presence known.

Scott immediately stopped his war path against the floor and looked to Deaton. He smiled before asking, “So, like, how are you doing?”

Deaton nodded to the words, moving to wash his hands as he said, “Satisfactory.”

Scott nodded with a puppy-dog smile. “Okay. So, this pack meeting is called to order.”

Deaton made mental note of the questions not asked. He made sure to not shrug. There was no reason to give away anything, like normal for him; however, Deaton found his internal passions and even desires much stronger now. Keeping himself calm was distinctly harder.

Theo asked, “What’s the plan for the pack? You wanting to get more members, Scott?”

Scott sighed and nodded, “Yeah. I kinda wanted to get our other members back, but I’m not so sure they’re willing. Haven’t seen Malia since what happened in the preserve. Adrian helped Derek attack us. And Jackson? Well, he hasn’t exactly been quiet about his opinion. I hope some of them will filter back in after a chance to calm down.”

Deaton took a breath, keeping his calm facade while making a note to head over to Stiles’ house later. While Scott was fine, in a way, Deaton still struggled with being in his own veterinary business after having been imprisoned in the cages here by the witches, as if he were a dog readying to be put down. It unsettled him, the thought of making any other animal go in the cages, let alone being in the room with the cages himself.

Theo then said, “Well, whether they come crawling back eventually or not, we could still use the numbers. I doubt we’ve seen the last of Derek’s pack or his evil uncle Peter. As it is, part of Derek’s pack nearly killed us.”

Nodding, Scott replied, “Yeah, true. Probably should get at least a couple more. Plus, there’s no guarantee that Derek’s pack won’t try to hurt, steal, or kill my betas again.”

\---------------------------------------------------

After dinner at Stiles’ house…

Sitting cross-legged on his floor with his back against the bed, Stiles was writing in Lydia’s notebook from earlier. He had a list going, promising that he said he would explain when he was a little further in.

Lydia and Allison were cuddled up to one another on Stiles’ bed while looking through the research papers spread out before them. They were looking into anything that could be found about the Nemeton as well as any mentions of a human Alpha.

Peter had left an hour or so before with the promise to be back by bedtime.

Noah was in his bed snoring. He was finally off doubles with Deputy Tara doing better and the animal attacks at a dead end.

Boyd tapped on Stiles’ window before letting himself in. The young wolf took a deep inhale of the room’s scents once he was fully inside, closing the window behind him. With the smells of pack to soothe him, Boyd moved to give Stiles a gentle hug.

Stiles smiled at Boyd, crouching down to hug him. It blew Stiles’ mind sometimes how sweet and gentle the wolves could be with him while also being able to rip someone apart so easily. Stiles’ mortality was especially on his mind after what happened with the witches.

Once released from the hug, Stiles said, “Erica’s in the kitchen grabbing a snack. If you’re hungry, feel free to help yourself.”

Boyd shrugged, as if he didn’t care either way. “What are you up to?”

Still smiling, Stiles said, “Working on a list of qualities I want our pack to value, like protection and consent as well as some things we are going to need to deal with: Scott and Theo.”

Boyd shrugged again before moving to sit on the corner of Stiles’ bed. “Well, if they keep trying to pull the same bullshit they did earlier today, they won’t be a concern for long.”

His smiling falling, Stiles set aside what he was doing. “What did they do?”

“They attacked us near the Hale house. They’d been waiting for us.”

“Oh god! Is everyone okay?”

“Adrian is still healing—took an ugly crack to the head. Derek’s okay for the most part. Or at least as okay as he ever is. I’ve had better days, but I’m proud of that we sent Scott and Theo running. Theo took a brutal clawing to the face a couple times—blinding like a bat, man.”

Stiles paled some at his brain’s efforts to visualize that against his will. He shook his head a bit before asking, “Think they’re going to try again?”

Boyd nodded. “Wouldn’t put it past ‘em.”

“How’s Derek taking the loss of his arm? Any clues as to why his body rejected it?”

“Quietly and not a single fucking clue. First thought was maybe Wolf’s Bane, but none of us had gotten shot with or been close to anything like that.”

“Huh. Think I may need to research that. Well, that and ways to keep us safe from Scott.”

Then there was a knock at the front door. Stiles stood up. “Well, we know it’s not a wolf since they’re using the door.”

With a chuckle at his own half joke, Stiles went to answer it. He opened the door and found himself to be face to face with Deaton, an unreadable expression on his face.

Deaton didn’t step forward or force his way through the door. He just waited for permission. “We have a problem.”

Stiles perked a brow, but moved out from the doorway, motioning for Deaton to follow. Hearing the door being closed behind him, Stiles went right back to his bedroom with Deaton on his heels.

The older man was twitchy, visibly uncomfortable. “Um, I’m not sure this is—”

Stiles turned to face Deaton. “Look, I get that things are weird, but what’s this problem?”

Stiles ran a hand up one of the man’s arms, over his shoulder and back down the same path it had already traveled to soothe the beta.

Deaton visibly relaxed in a way that no one had ever seen before. Even the way he held himself made it seem like he was a different person.

Stiles squeezed his arm gently before stepping away. “Sorry, still getting use to my special Alpha-y powers.”

Deaton took a deep breath. “Scott is looking to bite more people. I also fear he may come looking to bite you, too. He’s not in a good place and I think it’s going to get much worse.”

Allison sighed. “Not in a good place? We already knew that.”

Deaton shook his head. “No, not that kind. More like, ‘I’m deeply concerned the Alpha Spark may be with messing him’ type of deal, especially since his pack is so small.”

Stiles groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. 

Peter opened the bedroom window and slid in quietly. His shutting the window after he’d come in was the loudest sound in the room right then. He sidled up to Stiles’ back and wrapped his arms around the young man and nuzzling the back of his neck.

Stiles let out a relaxed sigh as he ran his hands over Peter’s before settling them there. “Okay, so Scott may be losing his mind…and wants more betas to control…”

Looking to Boyd, Stiles added, “And he is determined to have a pissing contest with Derek’s pack.”

Stiles turned back toward Deaton, not saying anything right away. He tried to keep from rolling his shoulders, he didn’t want Peter to think he wanted loose from the wolf’s embrace. More than anything, he was trying to figure out what to do. What should they do?

After another moment of quiet thought, Stiles sighed. He couldn’t help thinking that Tony Stark didn’t have to deal with someone like Scott, so there was no real guidance there on how to process all of this. Guess the teachings of Ironman couldn’t help him this time. Then again, Tony did seem to feel similarly about Steve Rogers from time to time. They finally did manage to work things out, right? Maybe he could find a way to pry them all out of this seething mess. Maybe he could encourage things being less intense than the Infinity War if he could lay out his chess pieces right.

After running a hand through his hair, Stiles sighed. “Okay, keep watching. Don’t interfere yet. I…we’ll figure out what to do with him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, we're so close to the end! I'm excited.
> 
> Comments & kudos feed my plot bunnies <3


	15. Endings & Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How did the witches know?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for graphic torture.
> 
> This chapter is a collaboration with @frozenadventures

In the next county over from Beacon Hills…

There was no light. There was no sound. No movement thanks to Wolf’s Bane infused chains strapped tightly to the ground.

The dominate smell was wolf’s blood—not all his. The most prominent feeling for the wolf was pain and growing confusion.

Gerard made sure of that with his drugs and torture tactics. 

The wolf-man could not remember when it had been taken, only that he was not alone. He had no concept of how long he had been in this hole, wearing these chains, just that the blood never stopped flowing. There were only long periods of sensory deprivation broken up by brutal torture sessions and then his senses were stripped away. Which one was worse?

Just acknowledging it mentally caused a tremble to run through the whole of the wolf’s body.

Then, suddenly, sound and movement as the chains were released from their ground gripping straps and the wolfman’s chains were hoisted up, bringing him to his feet as his arms were wrenched up painfully above him, holding his weight as his feet lost contact with the ground and placing the load on his wrists and shoulders. 

As his feet lost contact with the ground, the wolf-man heard a door opening, then there were steps coming toward him. Even though every step was likely to mean one step closer to torture, the wolf-man felt tears running down his cheeks at their being sound at all. The sensory deprivation was beyond unnerving—yes, the inability to see, hear, while his only companion was the smell of blood was the worse of the two options, he concluded.

The heavy smell of blood and iron was so strong it overpowered every possible other scent for a wolf-man’s nose.

As the steps came even closer, the wolf-man could just barely catch a sniff as to who it was: Gerard, like always. Day after day, there was no one but Gerard. The steps moved around him, coming to halt behind him. Suddenly his head was yanked back by a forceful tug of his hair, causing his eyes to flash red.

Gerard grunted into the wolf-man’s ear—“Ready to make me the most powerful man in the world, mutt?”

Eyes still red, he couldn’t help the tears that fell, but Deucalion growled a near howling response, “NEVER!”

Gerard laughed into Duke’s ear, taking pleasure as he winced at the now too loud sound where none had been before.

Stepping away, Gerard moved something on rickety wheels toward Duke, the squealing of the joints like a high-pitched scream contained within the torture chamber.

His head fell forward once Gerard released him, lying forward like a limp puppet with ripped loose strings. Duke knew the sound of those wheels all too well. He knew it held the instruments of pain he had become far too familiar with.

The knowledge of what was coming didn’t stop a reverberating half-growl, half-howl squeezing through his clenched teeth as something metal and hot was stabbed through the right side of his chest, expertly aimed to hit through the small space between his ribs. The item was so hot that it cauterized the wound; Gerard’s aim was to maim and torture, not to kill, so there would be no point in bleeding him dry.

Gerard pulled down on the implement and secured it into place, moving away to grab something else from the cart. Upon his return, he quickly loosened the chain, sending Duke to his feet, wobbling slightly, hands falling numbly in front of him.

Before he could attempt to shake some feeling back into his wrists, Gerardembeddeda raw wood pole right through Duke’s left arm, just deep enough that it pinned his forearm loosely to his chest. 

Then began the hammering. Gerard hammered the pole to get it deeper. Each tap and whack of the hammer forced the stake in deeper, reverberating through his body and jostling the metal pole already embedded in him. Duke swore he could feel the metal clacking against his ribs, but knew that was just his imagination. Gerard continued to work on the stake, taking his time as he pounded at it, slowly digging through his left forearm and into his chest as it pulled and ripped through layer after layer of muscle, fat, and fiber. Finally, the pole was lodged in his side, too large to fit between the ribs, but still forced through more and more with each thwack of the mallet.

Gerard began to speak while he worked. “You know, those witches were a real win-win. Either they would kill McCall and the Hales or they’d get killed by them. Well, those witches and your two abominations. No matter what, I got you and killed some supernatural trash. So, who do you think won?”

Duke groaned as another sharper hot metal stick was thrust through his leg, slipping right under his right kneecap out through his calf. Duke did howl this time in a mix of emotions, unbridled and unwanted, he wished he felt nothing but anger. He could live on the anger alone for all eternity, just based on this one day, this moment in time. It would sustain him. He was sure of it.

But then his right hand was speared straight through the middle of his palm, causing his mind to blank in pain as his whole body shook with exertion, trying to keep him alive with an influx of adrenaline and wolf-powered healing. Gerard uncuffed his right wrist, wrapping the shackle around Duke’s thigh and clasping it above the other manacle. With his right hand, the hunter attached another set of shackles and attached them to the chain. Pulling taut, the arm pulled him diagonally, pulling and jostling the wooden stake in his side as he attempted to find an even slightly comfortable position.

Grabbing a small wooden piece from the horror basket, Gerard pushed it slowly into his right hand, a cruel, almost pleased look on his face. The thin dowel finally pierced through his hand that had been secured above his head, blood now dripping down onto his face and sliding down his arm.

He could feel that itchy pulling of his flesh trying to stitch itself back together piece by piece, cell by cell. His body was desperately trying to eject the objects protruding from him every which way. His whole system was sluggish from lack of food, water, and rest. Now? Any reserves he had were being eaten up as his flesh protested and attempted to stitch him back together.

Duke howled and howled, crying out for what, he wasn’t sure anymore, if he ever had been. 

Duke thought he was past this weakness. He had formed an Alpha Pack, was the Demon Wolf. He was powerful and would not be captured or tortured EVER again. No, he would be the torturer. But here he was again, alone with the beast that blinded him in the first place when all he had sought was peace. Then he became the Demon Wolf, then he became unstoppable.

All his work, his effort to kill his way to the top, to reign…it was all broken; two lost beta Alphas, two young Alpha betas, where were they? What had happened? He had no idea of their fate and at this point, he didn’t want to know. They were better off without him, he couldn’t even protect himself. He was useless. How? How had this happened?

Gerard clicked his tongue to make a tsk-ing sound. “Now, now. You can belly-ache all you want, but no one will hear you. You’re mine now. I’m not letting you escape like last time. You will be here, be tortured, for the rest of your miserable life.When, or should I say if, I get sick of you, then you will die.”

“Hmmm…well, the witches are gone. Both your betas are dead too, boo-hoo. I’m guessing their Alpha Sparks have been passed on. It’s not clear—yet—who got them, but I’ll take care of them too, in time, just like you.”

Tears began to gather in Dukes eyes, spilling over, unable to blink fast enough to ward them off.

Gerard laughed. “Thinking you want some company? Well, if you bit me, I might be willing to let you hear each other as you die. I’m not a monster after all.”

Tears continued to fall from Duke’s blind eyes, though they widened as he felt something large and cold press between his buttocks. He tried to buck his body away, forgetting about he pole sticking from his side. He groaned as the stake jostled, stilling and hoping the pain would lessen, but then the item shoved past his tighented sphincter. It was a large metal…thing, thinner toward the base.

As the hunter shoved it in deeper, he felt something strange…other than the shredding of his last bit of dignity and his anus. The thing…it was expanding. He couldn’t even think of the words to describe what was happening, but the shape and slicking of gears coming from behind him, he had a good idea. With that acknowledgement, sharp pieces of the instrument began to open, spreading out from the bulbous end. Almost like a flower in bloom…except made of sharp metal pieces and expanding into his—OH HELL NO. That’s when Deucalion knew it was the pear of anguish.

And then he felt the burn of Wolf’s Bane. ‘That sadistic…’ It wasn’t enough to kill, but the burning was more intense, different, than the pain of his tender flesh being pulled to impossible sizes and beyond, finally tearing in jagged pieces as the pear continued to move and expand. The bane would make sure that the damage done would not properly heal for a very, very long time. 

Duke did not have much in the way of time to contemplate this, though, as next, he felt his ankles being bound and being pulled roughly back and forth. In seconds, both his legs and his arm were dislocated, causing him to hang even more precariously from his hanging right arm. Gerard continued pulling and swinging him every which way, like a cat with a mouse. It was sick.

Gerard laughed again. “Maybe I should leave you like this. Let your body keep trying and failing to put itself back together.”

He felt a hand running up his bare inner thigh. Duke tried to tense, to move, anything, But nothing worked. His loose, limbs wouldn’t follow his commands, lying there uselessly. Just like him.

Gerard’s hand was replaced with a cold blade, cutting into his leg and up to his exposed belly where Gerard stabbed several times. At least the squelching thrusts weren’t followed by the burn of Wolf’s Bane.

Gerard stepped back as blood poured down Duke’s front, long piles of intestine drooping and glistening through the gore.

“Had enough? You know how to get it all to stop. Whaddaya say, mutt?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't be mad about how this ended--there is a sequel in the works, promise!
> 
> Comments and kudos feed my plot bunnies<3


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